Legacy, an AU of the Dominon War, Year 1Innocence
by nightbird47
Summary: An AU of the Dominion War and story of occupation in which tyranny isn't always delivered at the point of a rifle but a pen. Sister story to Surrender. Year 2 will soon begin to be posted and its best if this is read first.
1. Part 1Flight Introduction

Introduction

Legacy - an Alternate History of the Dominion War

First the boring stuff.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Bashir, Garak, Sisko, Kira, O'Brien and his family, Dax, Worf, Ross, Bajor, DS9 and any other canon person or place is the property of Paramount Studios. Cyrus and the people who lived there, along with the new crew persons of DS9 who come, and the Vorta who takes charge of the area are all mine.

This is a repost/reorganization with typos fixed of the three file posting done initially. It was too confusing and I'm just putting it all in one place. If all twenty-two chapters aren't loaded yet they eventually will be. If you like the story, I'm not adverse to some reviews, especially about how you feel about the characters as they make do in the impossible tapdance of loyalty. Especially Sisko.

Divergence of AU timeline: In Year 1, the time line begins between In the Cards and Call to Arms at the end of the fifth season. The war starts at nearly the same time, but it's a massive surprise attack by the Dominion and before they are slowed there is a swath of Federation territory under their control that Starfleet is not capable of reclaiming. The people of DS9 end up on the wrong side of the lines, and their battles are to survive with something that matters remaining. Unlike its sister AU Surrender, they have yet to be hardened by the early months of war.

In cannon, the Dominion war is clearly patterned after the Second World War, especially in the Pacific. We even have the last minute reprieve of millions of lives which would have been lost taking Cardassia (or Japan) one soldier at a time when the Founder surrenders in exchange for survival.

But what if it had been patterned after the First World War, with its trenches and huge death toll over so little ground? What if the Dominion war began early and took the Feds by surprise, then led to a stalemate. And then a treaty. And what of those who lived behind the line were abandoned in sacrifice for the lives of those who weren't? World War 1 with shades of Korea.

What if it resulted in multiple small colonies of former Federation citizens who must now live under Dominion rule, resettled or stranded in the rush to escape. What if the Dominion established little colonies with too many refugees and not enough food and didn't even need the Jem'Hadar to keep them under control when food could be used.? And what if you, Benjamin Sisko, had to dance the fine line between the contempt of your own people and the demands of the enemy because if you didn't do what they told you the Jem'Hadar would enforce the rules for you?

What if you see no Jem'Hadar but you know the control is still absolute? Tyranny isn't always delivered at the point of a rifle. Sometimes, it comes at the tip of a pen and a form left incomplete.

There have been real-life men who faced Sisko's dilemma in this story. I hope I've given him a realistic look without copying anyone and not lost the essence of the character. War is hard when you're a soldier. But it's harder, in its way, when your battles are to keep your family alive in what is in essence a ghetto, and walk a fine line between protecting your people and becoming the enemy when the price of failure is catastrophic.

This was first written in 1999, and shelved due to need for research. It was posted on ASC in 2003. Then LIFE got in the way of writing for awhile and when I retrieved it from old files, noticed all the mistakes. Eventually my website will get updated with everything new but for now its only got the old stuff. But I noticed other things too. Some of the characters have slightly different arcs because of that encounter with LIFE.

This is a sister story to Surrender, here in the stories rated M for the increased level of violence. It presents a similar situation, for in that story the Federation loses the whole war. They lack any illusion of choice. In Legacy there is an illusion of one. But in both the cost of visible resistance is very high.

Both have multiple "books". I hope to begin posting the second year of Legacy as soon as the first section (of year 2, being worked on) is complete. I am using a beta, so it takes a bit longer but is better in the end for the fresh eyes.

And many thanks, a few years later, to Gabrielle Lawson for ripping apart the first draft and sending it back with meaningful questions like a useful beta should. Also, I'd like to thank Paula Stiles and a few others who read bits and pieces. It's never wasting your time to get an independent review and eyes that only see what you wrote.

Rating wise, this is PG-13, or here "T". Year 2 will also be, despite greater violence. The control still rests with food and fear no matter what sort of an occupation it is.

May you live in interesting times.

Nightbird


	2. Part 1Flight Teaser and Chapter 1

LEGACY

An Alternative History of the Dominion War

Year 1

Part 1 - Flight

Teaser - At Ground Zero

Neither knew, but it was the last lunch they would ever share. Garak was explaining the nuances of the latest Cardassian novel he had lent Julian, but Julian barely listened. His attention was on the noontime crowd, as if measuring their mood. Frustrated, Garak stopped. "Doctor, I do believe you're not listening."

"Oh, sorry," Julian replied, distracted. "There have been too many patients hurt in fights. And the last round of physicals showed half the people here need a vacation. Too much stress. Seems like most everyone needs something to get to sleep," he added, looking towards Quark's, "from me or there."

"It's not easy living in the bull's-eye," said Garak, thoughtfully.

Above the murmur of the crowd in the replimat, someone shouted that the wormhole was opening. As had become a kind of ritual, people headed toward the upper level to watch.

Garak noted, "There seems to be something going on."

o0o

There was a knot of people near one of the large viewing ports. They stood silently watching as another convoy emerged from the wormhole.

Neither terribly hungry, Bashir and Garak had abandoned their food to join the crowd. They were staring at the ships in silence, the sense of alarm visible as the convoy did not turn as all the others had. People backed away, uncertain as it headed towards the station instead.

Everyone knew that eventually it would happen. None were really prepared.

The klaxons began to sound red alert.

A moment later the first blast hit the station, scattering the crowd.

o0o

Sisko watched intently as the first few attackers retreated from the station's fire. Station defenses had been activated, and for the first time the new configurations had come on line. The Defiant had been scrambled, and was already engaged in battle. But for a few moments, the Dominion fleet stood back.

"They're hailing us, Sir."

"On screen."

Weyoun's face appeared. He smiled. "Captain Sisko, we demand your immediate surrender."

"Another wave of ships is coming out of the wormhole, Sir," reported someone quietly.

Sisko looked around Ops. The station could fight them off for a time, but not forever. His people were scared, but would not give up without a good fight.

"I'll have to think about it," he said, signaling that communications be cut.

"How long until we get some reinforcements?" he asked Dax.

"Six hours at the best estimate," she said quietly.

More ships were pouring through the wormhole. Sisko looked around at his people.

"Clear all ships that want to leave. No, *tell* them to leave. If they stay they may not be able to."

The information was being passed on in a low voice.

"Prepare to fire on my order."

"They're hailing us again, Sir."

"On screen."

Weyoun wasn't smiling this time. "Captain, you can't win. Surrender now and save a lot of lives."

"I can't do that," said Sisko and communications was cut.

The attack began in earnest. The Jem'Hadar advanced in large waves, the firefight quickly becoming intense as the station fired back at anything that moved. The shields were holding but damage to the station was already severe. There was a report of an explosion on the Promenade.

o0o

Bashir had not been able to get to the Infirmary. The scattering of the crowd had been fortuitous, so only a few had been badly injured when an explosion had spread shrapnel over the crowd.

Tapping his communicator, he said, "Bashir to Infirmary. We have casualties on the Promenade. I need a team here." He handed a wad of material to Garak, indicating where to press on a badly bleeding patient. They had moved the injured to a less open area, and no one needed immediate transport, but he did need help.

"Anyone serious? We have a lot of injured already here." It was his new nurse, so recently assigned he didn't remember her name. She sounded very rushed.

"A few. Get a team here stat."

"Yes Doctor." She paused, then resumed. "Sir, we definitely need you here."

o0o

The Dominion seemed to be losing a lot of ships. But they were smaller ships, and despite the shields they were creating a lot more damage than normal. Several had impacted against the station, creating hull breaches that had sealed several sections. It was as if the strategy was to use up station resources and cause a lot of damage. Once the ships were damaged they rammed the station.

"Another convoy emerging," said a tense voice, as a large fleet of larger ships came into view.

Sisko listened to the flood of damage reports coming into Ops. Almost every part of the station had sustained damage. It was going to be a long repair job-if they even had the opportunity.

"Shields?" he asked.

"Holding at forty percent."

He looked at the massive Dominion fleet still exiting the wormhole. Reinforcements would never arrive in time. This was the moment they had all dreaded and it wasn't going to last much longer. He looked around at the faces of his people. Bajoran and Starfleet alike, they were not giving up until they had no other choice.

"Divert all available power to shields," he ordered.

"Shields at fifty percent."

Another wave of small ships was coming towards them.

"Continuous fire. Don't worry about targets," he ordered. There were enough small craft it would be hard to miss.

Something crashed into the station near Ops. The room shook and the power momentarily dimmed. Another burning ship rammed the station, this time near Engineering. For a second everything went dark before emergency power kicked in.

This was the end.

"Shields at ten percent," came the report.

It was now just a matter of time.

And then, quite unexpectedly, the attackers began to turn back. Stunned by the sudden reversal, Ops became utterly quiet.

"Cease fire," ordered Sisko as the enemy retreated to safety. It wasn't going to matter much in a few minutes since there wasn't much more to fire.

o0o

DS9 had come out of the short battle in one piece, but with weeks of repairs ahead. Both transporters and internal sensors were out. The replicators were down. There were four major hull breaches.

Bashir had more casualties than he knew what to do with.

They didn't have any chance at all if the Dominion launched another attack.

They didn't even have the Defiant.

o0o

The Defiant hadn't fared much better.

Worf, in command, watched the smoke drifting from the burned out panels. The overload had sent three of the bridge personal to sickbay, and no one had replaced them as the panels were too damaged to use. Engulfed in Jem'Hadar ships, they were still fighting their way out. Half of the systems were off-line, including warp drive.

The Defiant had been specifically targeted. Even after the attack on the station was ended, the swarm of Jem'Hadar ships had continued to fire, the Defiant cornered a little too far away for the station to help.

"Divert all available power to shields," he ordered.

"Shields holding at twenty percent."

They were traveling as fast as they could on impulse power, trying to get into the station's firing range. Most of the weapon systems were damaged or offline, having been specifically targeted, and shields would not hold for long.

"Approaching station range, Sir."

"At my signal, drop shields and divert all power to impulse engines. Get as much speed as you can."

The Defiant shot through the swarm of Jem'Hadar ships and into safe range, but took a number of blasts in the process. The Jem'Hadar ships withdrew.

"Shields are gone."

"Impulse power failing as well, but it should get us to the docking ring."

"Sisko to Defiant," came the voice. "Status report. We've lost transporters."

"We will be able to dock," said Worf, relieved. "However, we have numerous injuries."

Bashir's voice, sounding very harried, promised a team would be waiting.

More ships were coming through the wormhole. But instead of heading toward Bajor, their direction was toward Federation territory. The fleet that had surrounded Bajor itself was moving towards them.

Starfleet must have been amassing a fleet to meet them. Warnings had been sent immediately.

A ring of Dominion ships remained, however, shadowing both Bajor and the station, The ships did nothing, just sat in a stationary orbit and watched.

The occupants of DS9 had finished their one and only battle of the Dominion invasion. The harder part of their war was yet to begin.

o0o

Looking at the faces of his officers, Sisko noticed how grim they looked. They had not cleaned themselves up. Bashir had dried blood on his uniform. There had not been time to worry about that.

"Report." Sisko nodded at O'Brien, who had inspected the Defiant after its docking.

"Almost every system has sustained heavy damage. It's a wonder it even made it back. All we can do is have her towed to a repair yard at this point."

General Martok, who had been on patrol near the Cardassian border when the attack took place, offered his help. "We will be joining the Federation and Klingon fleets. We can tow the Defiant back."

"That would be acceptable," said Sisko with a heavy heart. The Defiant was as much his command as this station. To see her so badly damaged hurt, especially with the station defenses nearly out and the Dominion lying in wait.

"That leaves us with one runabout," said Kira. The Rio Grande was the only surviving ship on the station. The visiting ships had taken Sisko's advice and left.

"How about the station?" he asked.

Dax spoke. "Shields are holding, for now. But we couldn't stand up to much of a fight. Phasers are operative, but not fully. There are a few torpedoes left. We might be able to take out some of them, but not many."

"Casualties," asked Sisko softly.

"We've treated and released over 100 people for minor injuries. I have some 40 patients who will require a lot more care. There were ten deaths." Bashir's voice was very quiet, but there was an odd edge to it.

The station was a wreck, damage everywhere. Main power was in the process of being restored, but that left almost everything else.

They all knew that without help they didn't have a chance. And with the huge Dominion fleet heading toward Federation space, there wouldn't be much of that.

"What about the people we have on Bajor?" asked O'Brien. His family had been caught on the planet, along with other dependents, and so far there was no way to get them back.

"The shuttles that tried to leave were shot at," said Kira. "Not destroyed, just forced to return."

There was a grim silence in the room. Kira remembered five years before, when the Starfleet people were new and Dukat had disappeared into the newly-discovered wormhole. His forces had tried to take the defenseless station then. It had been the baptism, at least for some of them, in life away from their safe haven. But now they were all much the same. There hadn't been a sign of the Cardassians, just the Dominion, and they were intent on forcing their special version of order on far more than Bajor.

"Well," said Sisko, "this meeting is dismissed. I have to discuss this situation with Starfleet, so hold all but priority communications for the next few hours." As his officers grimly left the room, Sisko steeled himself for what he expected to be bad news.

o0o

The admiral looked tired. Sisko was upset but did not let it show. He had detailed the reports of damage and the lingering Dominion fleet.

Martok's bird of prey would be taking the Defiant back for repairs with a skeleton crew, Worf in command.

"If it's abandoned it's just going to be all the harder to retake later," argued Sisko.

"I'm sorry, Ben. It's not defensible. No matter what you have, they have the wormhole to resupply themselves. The best thing we can do is get you out of there. You can't even get your own people off Bajor."

"That's something that needs to be addressed. I have people here who aren't going to willingly leave them behind."

"We'll do our best. Maybe when the evacuation ship arrives we can try to get to them. I'm just saying I can't make any promises. But your orders are to prepare for total evacuation."

Sisko wondered what they were leaving out. Something was wrong. There were too many Dominion ships heading towards the Federation. Warnings about the Dominion and the danger it presented were only lately being taken seriously.

There was one more thing to do. He initiated his second call, this time to Bajor.

o0o

The announcement was made before the senior officers, but it was transmitted throughout the station.

Sisko stood before his senior staff, looking rather grim. "I have received the following orders for all residents of this station."

An edgy, nervous feeling spread everywhere. There was barely a sound.

"By the joint order of Starfleet Command and the Council of Ministers, this station has been ordered evacuated. This order affects all residents. Bajoran nationals will be allowed to return to Bajor, should they wish to do so. Starfleet is providing transportation to the nearest available location within Federation territory for all Federation personnel and dependents, and foreign nationals who wish it. But this order is very clear. The station must be completely evacuated."

Here and there were comments, quickly hushed. The station residents stood or sat, all stunned by the sober tone. The feeling, now spread to everyone on the station, that something terrible was wrong became stronger.

After a pause, Sisko resumed.

"I urge all Bajorans to seek the protection of Bajor, however should they wish the Federation will provide for the evacuation of any Bajorans who wish to leave the area as well."

The Bajorans looked curiously at each other.

"The Dominion forces have agreed to allow this evacuation to proceed without interference. However, it must be done quickly. Every person is permitted one bag of personal belongings and one bag of food and other provisions for themselves for one week. We must be prepared to provide for ourselves should it be necessary."

The aura of nightmare grew stronger. There was a flurry of worried comments, and a sense of unreality began to pervade the onlookers.

"That is the end of the first announcement."

"The second is also not a happy one. Due to circumstances, and at the urging of the Emissary, the government of Bajor has signed the proposed non-aggression pact with the Dominion. It is hoped that this should provide a measure of safety for this station while the evacuation is in progress and for Bajor."

No one said a word.

He paused, taking a breath, and continued.

"This is not a happy occasion, and we all must work together to make this work. I ask that help be lent in any way possible. Due to the damage from the attack we so recently suffered, the stores on the Promenade will be closed. However, anyone needing supplies will be provided with them."

Taking a deep breath, Sisko continued, his tone softer this time.

"In recent times, we have all had a very difficult time. I personally want to thank my people, all of you in this room and out, for your loyalty and service. When we return to this station, there will be a place for all of you here. When I came here I did not want to stay, but in these five years this has become my home and I leave it with a vow that we will not give up until we can come

home."

The residents of DS9 were in a state of shock.

They all wanted to believe they would return. But they also understood that it was not to be soon. Starfleet would have to take back the station, and at the moment it was likely that the Federation had bigger problems.

o0o

The Defiant sat dead in space, dark, with all systems off. The Rotarron was prepped to leave, the small crew of the Defiant housed in rather cramped quarters. Worf was going with them. Jadzia was staying behind.

"I do not like it," said Worf, assembling his belongings. "It reeks of dishonor, of surrender."

Jadzia had been staring out the window at the Dominion fleet parked outside. Since the announcement they had moved a little closer.

"There's something wrong, something more that's been left out," she said distantly. "Benjamin knows it too but he can't say anything." She shook her head. "Things aren't going well."

"This evacuation," said Worf, with heavy accent on the second word, "is very abnormal. Starfleet should have completed it by now."

"I wonder," replied Jadzia thoughtfully. "Everything from Starfleet except one channel is being jammed." She shook her head in frustration. "Something big happened. Probably something bad. That was a pretty big fleet that went through here."

If something had happened and ships' positions could be given away, it would account for the lack of communications. Neither of them wanted to think much about that.

A small alarm sounded. Worf had to go.

Jadzia put her arms around him. They exchanged a restrained kiss.

"Whatever the plans, I will find you," said Worf, rather softly. "You are my par'machai."

Jadzia hugged him again. "And when we find each other, I'll be your wife."

Worf looked surprised. He accepted her tight embrace.

Breaking the contact he fished out a small token and handed it to her. She took it and gave him a remembrance as well.

"I look forward to that day," he said. The door opened and he walked out. She didn't follow.

And then he was gone. She waited until the ships disappeared before the tears fell. She had the uncanny feeling she would never see him again.

Chapter 1

The station was a rush of activity.

In the limited hours before they left for the unknown, equipment had to be disabled, supplies had to be packed, along with dozens of other tasks.

In its own way it was welcome. It kept people's minds off why they were so busy. In one short span of hours, the whole world had changed. Nobody yet knew how much.

o0o

Sisko sat in his office, waiting for a promised communication from Starfleet and trying to decide how to deal with the bad news. He assumed bad news. Outside, the Dominion ships looked to have moved closer.

He knew the basics. The news was very uncertain. Starfleet *was* sending a ship to evacuate them, but it was still at least a day away, perhaps two. It wasn't big enough to take everyone in one trip. Some would have to wait for a second run.

According to the first message, the Dominion had agreed to the evacuation. He hoped it was true. Perhaps, he thought, staring at the screen, Starfleet was no more sure than he was. Just in case, they were sending something small and expendable.

There were priorities. Starfleet personnel and their families came first, followed by foreign nationals and Bajorans wishing to be evacuated. He had Dax working on a list for the first run. They would take as many as possible on the first trip. The second would include as many supplies as time and space permitted. He was grateful that so many non-essential personal had already been sent home.

The door beeped. It was Dax.

She wandered in and sat. In the dim light he thought she had been crying.

"There is something wrong here," said Dax.

Sisko paused, looking out the window. He was slowly turning the baseball around in his hand. "I know. I want as many supplies brought as possible. I sure wish somebody would tell us what happened."

Dax gazed at the ships shadowing the station. "That was a huge fleet. It might make Wolf 359 look small."

"We lost that one, Old Man."

"I know."

"Do you think we lost this one?" asked Sisko seriously.

"Maybe not lost. But there has to be a reason for all that jamming and it taking them all this time to send someone here."

"At least Jake's visiting my father," said Sisko in a relieved tone.

Dax looked lost for a moment. She fingered something on her hand, a ring that hadn't been there before.

Sisko remembered Worf holding a keepsake of hers when he boarded the Rotarrin. He guessed the ring was Worf's.

"This will get straightened out somehow. You'll get back to him."

"I don't know, Benjamin. I felt like we said goodby."

o0o

Chewing his meal of Federation rations, Bashir wished he'd eaten his lunch the day before. The Dominion had nearly destroyed the station, but he was especially annoyed at them for the replicators. He'd been assembling medical supplies for hours when it came time to take his break and he wandered past the infirmary to see what had been done.

Main power was being restored so necessary preparations could be made, but subsidiary systems would not be repaired. There was really no point. They were stuck with the tasteless fare until they got to the next replicator.

But he had more important things on his mind. He stared at the ruined spaces in the Promenade, watching the Dominion ships visible through the viewing ports. He had come to see Sisko. It was perhaps the hardest walk he'd ever taken in his life.

He'd reviewed his patients condition, especially with the two evacuations. The decision had not been made alone, but discussed with his staff. He would ask Sisko for a change in normal procedure that could cost them their lives.

It was a relief to work in the Infirmary. There were no windows to look at the fleet poised waiting outside the station. He tried to push the image away in his mind while preparing himself for the meeting with Sisko.

o0o

"This is a very unusual request, Doctor. I would think you'd want your patients as far away from here as possible."

"I do, Sir, but it won't help them if they don't survive the trip. Some of them need my equipment longer, and it won't matter if we evacuate them without it. I can't take the larger units. We have quite a number of serious injuries that require more than a field kit."

"Will waiting a few more days make that much difference," asked Sisko, carefully watching the doctor's face as he fought against gazing at the fleet outside.

"For most of them it would make all the difference. It's going to be a bit crowded as well, I'm told, and my patients will take a lot more room. With fewer people in the second group it would be much easier to keep them comfortable." Bashir seemed to be trying hard to convince him, but there was an edge to his voice that Sisko had noticed at the meeting.

He watched as Bashir was trying not to look out the window. When he did, the fear shone through. "You do have excellent reasons, of course, but I would remind you that we have no assurance that *they*," indicating out the window with his hand "will be all that patient. You could be trapped. Have you considered this?"

Bashir began to say something but paused. Sisko had taken him by surprise with the warning. Nothing had been said about their chances before. He certainly knew the risk, and did not want to stay. But Sisko assumed there was no other choice or he would not have ask.

Hesitantly, looking nervously out the window, he said. "I have, Sir. I proposed this to my staff and we all agreed to wait. That was one of the possibilities we discussed. I . . . we cannot endanger our patients' lives for our own convenience."

Bashir stood, looking scared and determined at the same time.

Sisko didn't like the idea at all. He wanted his CMO and charges safely away as soon as possible. But Bashir would not make the request without reason. If his patients died anyway what good would it do?

"I'll agree. I just hope this isn't a mistake."

Bashir looked a little pale. But he stood and turned away from the window. "Thank you, Sir," he said very tersely.

Sisko watched as he retreated from the view. When the rest were gone, he and Kira would be the highest ranking personnel left behind. He'd have to talk to the invaders if it came to that.

When they got home, he'd put in for a commendation to Starfleet. When Bashir had first arrived, he'd been young and brash and very green. The Dominion and their prison had stripped much of that away, and his genetic status had set him apart. But this defined him as a man more than anything he'd ever done.

One of the ships shadowing the station shifted its orbit a little, and Sisko hoped he had not invited disaster.

o0o

Miles and Kira had arrived together. Both sat, tense, in the small room as the meeting began. This was the other worry, the Bajoran problem-both of them.

Miles had lines of worry etched on his face from the first one. Fifteen Federation dependents, Bajorans married to Starfleet personal or families evacuated earlier, were trapped on Bajor. Miles' family was among them. He was desperate to get them back before everyone was forced to flee.

Miles and the others would not leave willingly without their families.

The other Bajoran problem was about those left on the station. They were required to leave as well, and most wanted to go home. But ships leaving Bajor were still being forced to return. Nobody knew how they were to get home.

Kira was in charge of that problem.

"I can't even get clear communications with Starfleet," said Sisko. "I've tried to inform them of the problem but it's been like this since the last message was received. I wouldn't count on them for help."

Kira had been studying the view out the window. "What about your evac ship?" she asked. "We could transport the families up and my people back. I assume there are enough transporters to handle it on this ship."

Miles brightened a bit. He looked up towards the ships outside the station. "If they cooperate. And if this ship can do it. It's probably our best bet."

"I would assume," said Sisko, not as certain of it as he sounded. "I'm more worried about the ships out there. We can't endanger everyone else if they object."

But Miles was already making plans. "We'd have to have them all in the same location," he suggested. "At least we have communications with Bajor."

"We need a good rendezvous point, one we can defend if needed," added Kira. "I can think of several good locations. Do we know where our people are now?"

"I can get the information," offered O'Brien.

Sisko had the same uneasy feeling he'd had with Bashir. It could be a disaster, but somehow they had to try. "All right, work on it. When you get something put together, let me know."

They left quickly, eager to get to work. Sisko watched with pride. They were good people. He was going to miss them. He would get them back, too. Somehow.

o0o

Bashir hadn't slept for over thirty-six hours, and now that the overflowing ranks of injured had been released, Jabara insisted on his going to bed.

"Doctor, if you don't go yourself I'll call Security," she insisted.

"They're too busy," he answered.

"Then I'll carry you."

He almost smiled. But he looked over the empty spaces where patients had been before and stretched. "Don't worry, I'll go. Hope I make it . . . . "

o0o

He hadn't bothered to undress, just lay on the bed as he was. He was too exhausted to take the time. He expected to drop off to sleep immediately, but there was a nervous edge there he couldn't wish away. Half-asleep, he wandered to the replicator, requesting Tarkalian tea. Only after he said the words out loud did he remember it wasn't working. He settled for water and collapsed back into bed.

He slept.

But the nightmare started immediately. He was in the barracks at Internment Camp 371, sitting on his bunk with a disrupter aimed at his head. It hurt from the bashing he had taken earlier. He watched in shock as the Romulan was killed, shoved back on the bunk by one of the guards. He expected to die if Garak didn't hurry, or perhaps even if he did.

It was not dream-like. All the smells he'd grown used to filled his mind. Random vibrations shook the walls. He tried not to look like he was considering if he could reach the knife before they killed him. But he'd wait. The shadow of the rifle shielded his view of the room.

Then, one of the guards discovered how to open the wall. He held his breath while they looked inside. But this time Garak made a noise, or shone a light, and the guard continued inside. There was a struggle, but Garak was dragged out. A blast from the disrupter destroyed all of Garak's work, and the Cardassian was thrown to the floor.

There would be no escape.

The disrupter was shoved against his head and he froze.

He couldn't take his eyes off Garak. The tailor tried to sit up and was shoved back by the guards boot, kicking him to the floor.

Behind them was a commotion. The Breen had gotten up and taken one of the Jem'Hadar weapons. Both the Breen and the Jem'Hadar died, but Bashir and Garak and the Romulan were firmly covered by the others.

Time passed. He didn't know how much since this was a dream.

The doors of the cell opened, and the Vorta entered.

He walked over to Garak, looking down on him.

Stepping back, he ordered the guards to shoot.

Bashir could not close his eyes, watching as the disrupter blast ripped through Garak and he disappeared.

The disrupter was pulled away from his head. Then something heavy crashed into him and there was just blackness.

o0o

He woke up suddenly in a heavy sweat, not sure where he was, frozen in place for a second as he realized the emergency lights cast the half-light in his quarters. That nightmare had shadowed his sleep for months after his escape, but he'd not had it often of late. Sitting up, he watched the warships that waited.

What if they took him again? He was suddenly struck with the possibility. He would rather have died in the attack than go back to that hellhole. He would not be able to sleep, afraid of the other dream. Sitting up, he stumbled to his feet and retrieved his rations. He'd missed lunch and dinner today. The dim light cast unfamiliar shadows, and he turned away from the view of space around them.

He nibbled on his rations, wishing there was something to do. He was too tired to leave and too edgy to sleep. It wasn't bright enough to read.

Soon, though, the rest would leave and he'd be too busy to sit alone like this. He almost wished the ship had come and gone. It would be over sooner and they'd know if it had been a mistake.

For now, all that could be done was wait. Sitting on his couch, he rolled to his side and fell into an exhausted sleep.

o0o

"We're done, Benjamin. They all have their entry passes. This way we speed things up, so we won't have to check names." Dax sounded exhausted and her eyes were red.

"Good work, Old Man." He wanted to say more, but not in a meeting, and even in private she had not appeared to listen. He was worried about her.

"How are the supplies coming?" he asked.

Kira spoke up. "Proceeding. About half of them are ready. They're being loaded into the docking bay. We're asking for volunteers and getting them so they should be loaded in time."

"Good," said Sisko. Looking at Bashir, he added, "How are your people coming?"

"Slowly, but we can't pack what we need for the patients. We will be ready for the second group, though."

"How are the patients doing?" asked Sisko.

"Improving. I believe none will be in danger by the time we leave."

There was a subtle shift in mood when Bashir spoke. Most of the rest of the people in the room would be gone by then. He was set apart from them.

"Now, what about the Bajor problem."

O'Brien spoke first. "We've been able to contact everybody. We're trying to get them to the rendezvous. This is assuming that the captain agrees."

"He's in charge of an evacuation. That means everyone," said Sisko, with a bit more confidence than he felt. Normally it would be assumed, but nothing was "normal" anymore.

"My people are ready," said Kira. "Is there any word from Starfleet?"

"Nothing. We're still jammed. It's possible that the jamming is in this area but there is no way to tell."

There was a sobering silence in the room. For all the brave words, they still had no idea what had happened and what the future held for them.

o0o

The Promenade was deserted. The shops were all closed, and the damage from the explosion was still scattered about the floor. The station's inhabitants were keeping to their quarters, packing their single bag and waiting.

The transport would be there in a day. The first group of evacuees was on call. They were busily getting their rations packed and making sure nothing of use was left behind.

The Dominion had agreed to allow the evacuation to proceed, even to the evacuation of Bajorans who wanted to go. But nobody really trusted them. The sooner they were away, the better.

Kira had not been able to sleep and decided to take a walk. She was surprised to see someone standing near the viewing port.

She recognized Bashir. The figure looked like him, but not quite. The body language was wrong. He wasn't standing as straight and tall as usual, slumped against the wall. She thought he looked very depressed. If he'd let down his guard this way, she knew he thought he was alone.

He ambled away from the window, kicking away pieces of the metal that was still lying where it fell. He stopped and studied a blood stain still in place, tracing it out with his foot.

She could see his face as he stared toward the viewing port, toward the Dominion warships sitting there waiting for, what? A bit of light shone into his eyes, and she could see the fear. But he'd chosen to stay behind. It must have been a very hard decision. She knew about hard choices.

She approached quietly. He jumped when he heard her footsteps.

His eyes were locked on the warship nearest the window, arms folded, shoulders tense. She suspected he wasn't on DS9 at the moment.

Gradually, he shifted his focus to her, a little confused as if she had interrupted something.

"Oh, Major, I didn't hear you."

"I couldn't sleep," she said.

"I couldn't either," he said.

"You look like it's been a few days."

He stared at the window and what lay beyond. "Not really since they got here."

"Nightmares?" she asked.

"I imagine that if I go to sleep, I'll wake up back . . . there."

"In the internment camp," she said.

"In isolation. For a long time," he said, not moving his focus." And if I do get to sleep I dream about it."

She understood how he felt. Everybody was nervous, but he had more reason to be scared.

He also had responsibilities, and should at least try to sleep.

"You still need some sleep. Even if only an hour or two," she said. Her tone was understanding.

He closed his eyes as if to break the spell, and began wandering down the Promenade.

"You know, I was actually glad when Garak and Worf showed up. Not that I wanted to wish that place on them, but just to see a familiar face. Tain's signal was helpful, gave us a little hope, but still I didn't really expect to come home."

His eyes were watching something, but not on the station. In almost a whisper he added, "Especially after they . . . after I was put in isolation."

She noticed the catch. He'd been debriefed on his experiences. He'd had to have told somebody. But he wouldn't talk about it.

"It gets better," she said.

He turned to look at her, skeptically. "Really?"

"Most of the time," she said.

He walked along the Promenade for a short distance, turning towards the Infirmary. Kira was following him. He motioned her to wait as he went inside for a moment.

He emerged with two small patches. "This will help induce sleep," he explained, handing one of them to her.

They went to their respective quarters, following the same route.

She thought of the obnoxious young officer who had arrived five years before and wished, for his sake, that he was still there.

o0o

He lay in his bed, his quarters pitch dark. He had thought about using the sleep inducer, but he would still dream. Perhaps he would remember little but something of the nightmare would remain. He didn't need to be reminded. It was still a very vivid, detailed memory, especially since the Jem'Hadar were sitting just off the station.

It wasn't just being isolation. It was what happened before.

He had broken one of the rules, and the rules were very important.

They had yanked him up with unexpected strength, slamming him against a wall. He still remembered how the rough rock had stung his face. He was stunned for a moment, and felt his hands being tied with a heavy cord digging into his skin. Held between two Jem'Hadar, he'd been dragged away and tossed into a cell.

It had been dark. He had landed on a bare rock floor, face down. He couldn't move, the way his hands were tied. He remembered keeping absolutely still for a long time, trying to keep from further pulling on the cord around his wrists. Eventually, he had fallen asleep.

He'd heard the footsteps, hard thuds of boots that meant Jem'Hadar, but had not moved. When the first kick landed in his side he jerked away but could not shield himself. More kicks came and he stopped moving, hoping they would be satisfied, but they didn't stop. Shrinking into a ball, despite the ties pulling against his wrist, he passed out.

Sometime later, he had no idea how much time had passed, he was yanked by his feet and startled awake. They rolled him onto his stomach, pulling his shirt past the bound arms. But he froze when he saw the device one of the Jem'Hadar was holding. The bruises didn't matter so much now. He froze in anticipation.

Something was jammed into his spine. A white hot jolt of pain shot through him. He screamed. He pulled against his wrists but the pain of that was trivial. The prod was moved, this time lower and jabbed into him hard. The agony surged through him again. After that, his memory of it was vague, except for the pain and the screams.

Then it stopped, leaving him just barely conscious. His body tingled with pain.

He remembered nothing after that but waking in the isolation cell. Or at least that was what he'd told them during the debriefing upon their return. He had passed out, but there had been one last moment of horror he kept to himself.

Before there were physical scars. This one left a more gaping wound they could not see.

Coming to in different cell, with a hard metal floor, there were sounds of movement. It was only half dark but he could not see anyone from where he lay, but knew he wasn't alone.

Then the door was pushed open with a squeal. Heavy thuds denoted the Jem'Hadar but there were lighter steps that he assumed was the Vorta. They walked near him, and he froze. They did not stop. A little across the room, out of his field of vision, they halted by the other prisoner.

The Vorta spoke, something in Dominguinese. Then the grunting voice of a Cardassian as he screamed. He had heard the whine of the prod and it was hard to push back his own memories.

He didn't move while they tortured the man. They beat him after, dull grunts which gave way to ragged breathing. Eventually there were sobs and pleas, his begging left unheard. Then nothing.

He assumed the Cardassian was unconscious or dead. The feet moved towards him. He couldn't breath. When they grabbed his hands even the pain did not matter he was so certain he was next.

But they'd unwound the cable and sprayed something on it to stop the bleeding. It stung and he clenched his teeth. Perhaps they didn't want him to die from an infection.

They hauled him to his feet, yanking down his shirt over the bruises and burns. As they dragged him out he saw the Cardassian. There was a lot of blood. He wasn't moving. Julian thought he was probably dead.

As they shoved him into the pitch dark isolation cell he wondered what the Cardassian had done. Which rule had been broken?

In the dark cell, he'd lost track of time. Dreams became reality, and the Cardassian merged into his being. If they ever let him out, if the plan Tain was working did not work, he was terrified he'd be the example next time.

And now, *they* were sitting just off the station. It took every bit of control he had not to just take the Rio Grande and run.

o0o

The ship that would take them from the station arrived the next day. At first, the relief was enormous. Then it arrived and it felt like there must have been a mistake.

Sisko watched as Dax relayed the request to dock. Every eye in the room was on the old, battered freighter that shared the sky with sleek Dominion ships as it waited to dock.

"Permission granted," replied Sisko to the request, as he watched with mounting worry.

Nobody had expected the Enterprise, but something faster and more up-to-date than this wreak.

The Antelope docked without delay, the Captain requesting permission to come aboard.

Sisko was waiting for him. Captain Barrett studied the faces and almost looked amused. "I assume you were expecting something else," he said.

Sisko stepped forward, extending a hand. "Captain Barrett, welcome to DS9. And yes, we did expect a somewhat newer ship. But none the less we are very relieved that you're here."

Barrett was well worn, and his eyes were grim. "I understand why they picked my old bucket. I did suggest something larger but there wasn't anything close enough." He looked over the cadre of officers with Sisko, taking a deep breath.

Sisko nodded, "I'd like to hear those reasons. But we don't have a lot of time. My people are ready to board if you are."

"We cleaned out all the cargo bays. Sorry, but we really aren't set up for passengers. You'll have to put up with things."

"I'm sure my people will understand," said Sisko. "I would like to talk privately," he added.

"As long as we don't make it too long a conversation," replied Barrett. "You can get your people ready and start them boarding right away. The sooner we get the first batch of you out of here the sooner we can come back for the rest."

Inside Sisko's office, Barrett looked uneasy. He stared out the large port at all the Dominion ships. "I could live without this view," he commented.

"I know what you mean," said Sisko quietly. "It was beautiful before."

"Look, I know you're probably curious about why they sent a broken-down old freighter to get your people. Partly because I was there, I guess, and for other reasons."

"Which are?" asked Sisko.

"When they told me what we were doing, I told them they were crazy, but as it, well, as it is it's a good idea. I guess you do want to get off this station before our friends out there change their minds."

"That's quite true," said Sisko. "What do you know about the situation with Starfleet?"

"Now? Not a lot. But before we left they were trying to decide who to defend and who to leave behind."

"I take it things didn't go well?" asked Sisko.

"You could say that."

"We haven't been told anything. Since we received the message about your arrival, everything has been jammed."

"Dominion jamming. You do know that you're in occupied territory."

Sisko was surprised at the directness. "I assumed as much," he said icily staring at the Dominion ships.

"I've heard rumors," said Captain Barrett softly, "rumors that sound pretty bad."

"Such as?" said Sisko, who would take rumors over nothing.

"That they are going to let them have the wormhole, this station and probably whatever else they want for the moment."

Sisko didn't say anything. He was thinking about Cardassia and the Demilitarized Zone, which was nothing of the sort. They had not been willing to risk war with Cardassia after the Borg, and it had created the Maquis in the process.

After a moment of reflection, Sisko asked, "Does anyone know the source of this rumor?"

"On high, if you can believe it. They don't want to risk sending something armed into this area since it might disturb the delicate balance of the moment. So they sent me."

Sisko hated to agree but it made sense. It also meant very bad news.

"Where are we going?" he asked finally.

"Nearest starbase. There's a rendezvous planned of evacuated persons. We're just a fill-in. You'll be transferred to a regular ship once we get to the evacuation point. With cabins and such."

Sisko was growing increasingly suspicious that there was more they wouldn't like. "An evacuation point?"

"You know. I dump you there and go back and get the rest. Then they parcel you out as they have transportation."

"I can think of other names for that," said Sisko.

"So can I, but I thought you'd appreciate if I didn't use them. I'd think you'd rather be there than here."

Sisko sat for a moment, watching the Dominion ships. That was true. To be treated as refugees from lost territory wasn't his first choice, but it was better than being here when they took the station. Still, the man didn't understand that for Sisko this was losing his home.

But he wasn't interested in getting personal. There were some important details that had to be discussed.

"We do have a problem," he said.

" I see. And I can help solve it."

"Actually, we need your transporters. We have fifteen dependents of station personnel on Bajor. We haven't had a way to get them off. We're getting them to a central point. They will need to be beamed aboard."

Barrett had lost his mood. "And what do you think *they* will be doing at the time?" he said, pointing at the fleet.

"If we are allowed to leave, shouldn't our families be as well?" asked Sisko.

"I think that's up to them. But I'll give it a try. Not on the first run, though. If they have a problem with it I don't want to have to come back."

"That's reasonable. There is another problem. We have Bajoran nationals who want to go home. They have no way to get there."

"Except my transporters."

"Exactly."

"How many Bajoran nationals are we talking here? I can take ten at a time, so it wouldn't take a long time to get 15 people off Bajor. But I wouldn't want to wait too long or nobody gets out of here."

"That's true. I'll discuss it with Major Kira. Now, as far as our trip, how long will it take to get to this evacuation point?"

"A couple of days, probably. The second batch will have to wait about four days."

"And what do we do when we come aboard?"

The captain laughed. "You mean, do you have to sleep on the floor? Not quite. My bays are rather nicely laid out. I think you'll do fine."

Sisko was relieved. "My people are ready. I assume they are on the way."

"Good. I'd like to be out of here ASAP."

o0o

The line of evacuees waited patiently, bags in hand. As they advanced to the door, their passes were recorded and names were automatically listed. Then their assignments were given and they entered. It was all quite orderly, and the line melted away to nothing.

Once inside they were surprised. There were separate areas set up for sitting, sleeping and eating. They were going to have to figure out how to entertain themselves, but while it wasn't luxury, it wasn't as bad as they'd imagined.

There were three bays set up for passengers, the larger one specifically for families. It was a little crowded, but for a couple of days they could live with it. They would be leaving the Dominion fleet behind. That was what mattered.

The fourth bay was for cargo, and it was stuffed with as much as it would hold. Much of it was food. Most of the rest was equipment stripped from the station that otherwise would have to be destroyed. The blankets and other items of comfort were taken in by their owners.

Except for a few of the passengers, they were packed and ready to leave.

o0o

One of the reluctant boarders was Miles. He had repeatedly insisted that he wanted to wait. If they were going to try to get the families he wanted to be there. But Sisko had other ideas about why he might want to stay. There was still the Rio Grande. He wouldn't put it past Miles to try to get them on his own.

"Look Chief," said Sisko carefully, "I know how worried you are, but you have to think of everybody. They are going to try to get them. Major Kira will be in charge of the operation. We'll all do what we can, but you don't have to be there."

"I know, Sir. But I may be able to help."

"How? I'm sure the Antelope's engineers can do the job."

"Yes, Sir but . . . . "

"Yes but nothing, Chief. I want you on that ship."

o0o

Sisko had confirmed that O'Brien was on the ship, as well as Nog, who had wanted to stay for the next trip along with his family, but had been ordered to go with the first group. Sisko was making his last two visits before departure.

One was to Dr. Bashir. He had just walked into the Infirmary when his commbadge chirped and the klaxons sounded some sort of low-level alert.

It was Kira, sounding urgent. "Captain we need you up here immediately".

He knew the tone, and hurried out the door. He'd see Bashir later.

Kira pulled him into his office when he arrived.

"This came in ten minutes ago," she said, indicating the message and image. A building, no, several buildings had been blown apart.

Sisko stared at it with a knot in stomach forming. "Who and what?"

"There was a meeting going on between Weyoun and the elected Bajoran government," intoned Kira. "Shortly after Weyoun had left, when the proposals were being discussed, someone set off a bomb. Captain, there is no Bajoran government at the moment. Bajor has already been threatened by the Jem'Hadar."

"Who claims responsibility?" ask Sisko grimly.

"A splinter group from the Kohn Ma. They made a few threats before against the Federation, but never carried them out. They claim the Kai and the others betrayed Bajor. The have vowed to fight to the death."

"That might be a very short fight," said Sisko.

"They aren't worried about that," said Kira, a deep sadness in her voice.

o0o

Sisko had ordered anyone on the ship to remain. He didn't want any extra problems. But for those left on the station the problems were just starting. He had called a small meeting.

Captain Barrett had been asked to attend, along with Kira, Bashir and a few others who formed DS9's new temporary command group. The Dominion ships were still there, still waiting. Sisko could taste the fear in the room.

"We can't wait four days to return, not under current circumstances," said Captain Barrett. "We will have to find a new destination. I don't like a defenseless ship just sitting there."

"I agree," Sisko added. "We have a plan but we need your advice. There are some semi-populated planets just into Federation territory. We need the best possibility."

"There's a couple of Ag colonies in a straight line from here. I suppose any of them would do for a short stay."

"How short?" asked Sisko.

"Maybe a week. Maybe more."

"Depending on how bad things are?" asked Kira.

"It isn't a real good time to change plans," Barrett explained. "We'll have to figure out how to get you off-world if there are problems. But, under the circumstances I'd say you and your people would be a whole lot safer waiting there than here."

"What about the people there, are you going to warn them?" asked Bashir.

"No. We don't want to ask for problems. I beam your people down and they won't have much to say about it. I'm not saying they'll like the idea, but I think they'll get over it."

"What about conditions?" asked Bashir. "Should I send a med team?"

"Conditions? Probably rather extreme. We'll have to use their replicators for tents, but you'll manage. As for a team, it might be a good idea if you had them ready to walk out the door right now. But I want to go as soon as this meeting is done."

Sisko liked the sound of it less and less. But it was better than leaving his people for days in such a dangerous position.

"How many people are left on the station?" he asked Kira.

"Including all Bajorans, perhaps 150."

Sisko turned to Barrett. "When we arrive, we empty the larger bay. The return trip will be much less comfortable, but we will need more room for supplies."

"Good idea. The supplies have to be ready to load as soon as we get here, though. I don't want to waste time on supplies when all those ships are out there."

Sisko nodded. He addressed Bashir and Kira. "For your parts, I need anything of value packed for shipping. Include small household-type items. But the concentration will be on food and medicine. Bedding and clothes might be necessary too. Basically, any potentially usable items." He watched as Bashir nodded. "Your choice," he said, looking at Kira.

Bashir mumbled agreement. Kira was thinking, and added, "What about materials for shelters?"

Barrett answered before Sisko had a chance. "If you want, but don't make it a priority. If things get that bad we'll make more. Bring food and medicine as your priority. Just in case it takes a while."

Kira nodded. "I know about that."

"Good. Look, I want this meeting over. I want out of here."

"I'd like to stay," said Sisko, looking over the room. "A Captain stays with his ship. But I've been specifically ordered to go with the first load. I'd like a few minutes but I'll be there very soon."

"Just hurry. We should have already been gone," said Captain Barrett.

Sisko had one more thing to say.

"Now, I don't want to have to say this, but if the station is taken, as far as Starfleet is concerned, you were taken in violation of an agreement. It will be treated as such."

Bashir looked at Sisko, nervous and edgy. "That won't help us very much."

*I know*, thought Sisko. "We'll just have to make sure we don't have to find that out," he said.

Bashir stared at him. On a filthy street in the middle of a Sanctuary District, Sisko had almost said the same thing. Bashir had asked what the Federation would do if it had the problems those who'd made the Sanctuary districts knew, if it would abandon the lost and prove humanity no better than the rest.

Perhaps Bashir remembered. Sisko added, "Or, perhaps we have."

It was quiet and unsettling, and Sisko didn't know what else to say.

Bashir finally looked away, and Barrett stood. "I hope you don't have much to do, Captain, because I want to leave *now*."

He'd wanted to speak to Bashir, but now could think of nothing to say. Instead, he turned to Kira. "Any problem with my final instructions?" he asked.

"No." She was watching him, then glancing at Bashir. "Julian and I can handle it."

Sisko retrieved his bags and took one last look at the place he'd called home. The baseball was in his hand, and he shoved it inside his bag.

He stopped at the gate, looking back. Someday, he told himself, he'd come home. But now he had to go, and with a hesitant step he said good bye.

end, Legacy Year 1, Part 1, Chapter 1


	3. Part 1Flight Chapter 2

LEGACY

An Alternative History of the Dominion War

Year 1

Part 1 - Flight

Chapter 2

Those remaining gathered to watch the departure, standing along the splintered shops of the Promenade. It was important to watch the Antelope as it left, and to see if any of the Dominion ships followed. None really knew if it was a ruse. But now they no longer had any protection. The Bajoran extremists had seen to that.

When the lumbering ship seemed to get away peacefully, there was a heartfelt, if brief, cheer. Then everyone went back to what they'd been doing for several days, hours of stripping and packing.

Kira was in command of the station, Bashir the last of the senior staff. But little of this mattered. The two of them, the Starfleet people left behind to do important work, the Bajorans, and the scattering of foreign nationals all shared a sense of foreboding that was almost palpable. They were being allowed to stay, unharmed, only because the Dominion hadn't bothered with them . . . yet.

There was no doubt that they were now on their own. The packing was very important. Their original destination had been a starbase with supplies, but none had any idea what would happen when they left. The little Ag colony wouldn't be prepared. Starfleet might be busy and take a long time to retrieve them, especially if the starbase was overwhelmed. Sisko's group had had less time to wonder. Bashir and Kira's would have longer to doubt. If things had gone very badly for Starfleet, conditions could get very hard.

The Bajorans knew about refugee camps. Kira had made sure Bashir took everything he could pry from the medical equipment. Despite Barrett's opinions, blankets and as much food as they could store were added to the cargo. The containers, when full, were labeled and moved to the dock, ready to load. They wouldn't waste any time, but would fill the little ship with as much cargo as would fit. The passengers would have to live with the crowding. It wasn't going to be that long of a trip, anyway.

But nobody complained. If it got them away from those ships, they were willing to put up with almost anything. It was going to be a very long two days before the Antelope returned.

o0o

It had been garbled, but Kira recognized the private code Keiko used when leaving personal messages to her husband. She had always respected it, but at the moment Miles was on his way, reluctantly, to Federation territory.

Kira took it upon herself to read the message.

It was brief and hurried, slipped out between noise so it might not be traced. They were all right, and had made it to the rendezvous point. The others were there as well. They all hoped to leave Bajor soon.

Kira knew the place well. Sitting in the darkness of her quarters, surrounded by enemy ships, she wondered if it might be possible to slip a runabout in quickly enough and bring their people back to the station.

Sisko might have agreed, if persuaded. But he was with Miles. Kira was in charge, and there was nobody to tell her not to.

She went looking for Bashir, and was told he was busy with packing. Food and medicine was being gathered anywhere it could be located. Everyone was working, carrying supplies to the crates, packing or moving filled ones to the loading dock. Already, they'd set up the final orders Sisko had discussed, and stripped most all that could be brought along.

She passed a few of the stores, abandoned after the attack. Inside, there were useful things, some not of immediate value, but she knew how much a token of comfort could mean in a few months if things went wrong.

There might be room. She found a few Bajorans pushing an empty crate past the stores and ordered them to fill it with as much as they could. Just in case they got stranded, she said, and they understood.

The Starfleet people wouldn't. They probably assumed the Federation would come and rescue them. They would be grateful in time.

She caught up with Bashir on the dock. Someone had discovered it was easier to bring things to crates than to move them full. He was dirty and tired, a gleam of sweat on his face from the work. She brought him a packaged drink from Quarks. The next empty crate was dragged back to fill so all the others would have a small moment of enjoyment.

It was a small moment of joy, but they would learn to treasure them.

Finally, getting Bashir's attention, in an isolated corner she made her proposal.

"I think I can slip in with the mountain cover and get to them. It's too risky for everyone else for the transport to get that near, so if they're on the station that problem is solved," she explained.

He listened carefully. It wasn't normal procedures, but then, he wasn't opposed to bending them when it was more important. His best friend's family was stranded there, too. If there was a way to save them without risking everyone else's lives, she bet he'd agree.

"Just you?" he asked, sipping the bottle of soda she'd taken from Quark's bar.

"I have a few volunteers. If they get stranded on Bajor they'd rather be there anyway. And the Rio Grande isn't going to help anybody get away from here."

"And you'll stay," he said. "You and Odo."

She looked away. "I don't know. They'll need a good pilot. If they don't have anyone I'll come back."

He looked at the dock with its frantic activity. "Do what you have to do," he said grimly.

She watched as he walked away, trying to remember when he didn't understand either.

o0o

Bashir was in command now. The Rio Grande had left a few hours before, with Kira and several eager Bajoran volunteers. He chose to assumed she'd return, but doubted the others would.

Like everyone else, they wanted to go home.

There was nothing left on the station that could save them. If the Antelope didn't make it back, they'd end up as prisoners. He stared at the screen, taking some time from packing, waiting to hear that the families were on board and safely headed back.

Or dead. Or lost. He knew Kira's plan wasn't safe or smart, but it wouldn't hurt to try. If Miles hadn't been forced to go, he'd have helped her *take* the Rio Grande without permission if necessary.

Odo had stayed. Bashir was a little surprised, but assumed Odo had some secret plan of his own if things went wrong. How hard would it be for *them* to find a shapeshifter who didn't want to be found?

His quiet was interrupted by Odo. There had been a transmission. As the most senior of the remaining staff, he had to answer.

He didn't like having to be in Sisko's office, sitting in Sisko's chair, but told himself he could maintain his control long enough to get this over with.

It was Weyoun. He recognized Bashir by name. The smile gave him the creeps. He did his best to not let it show.

"Well, Doctor. I'm surprised you're still here. I would think you would have left early. I'll have to amend our records."

They know, thought Bashir.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"I have a message for you. Your shuttle was forced to land and was destroyed. Should you send anything else near Bajor there won't be anyone on the station to rescue when your barge arrives. Is this clear, or do I need to stage a demonstration?"

Bashir was perfectly well aware of the range of Dominion transporters. And there was nothing more to send to Bajor anyway.

"No, that won't be necessary." he said in the calmest voice he could manage. "We'll leave Bajor alone."

"I hope so. I'm not ready to deal with prisoners."

Bashir forced down the fear and explained. "The people on the shuttle were Bajorans. They just wanted to go home. Perhaps you could suggest a safer way for them to do that."

Weyoun looked amused. "Your Bajorans could stay on the station when you leave. We'll take care of them. As for you, Doctor, be careful. There could be a nice dark little box waiting for you."

Bashir didn't quite manage to cover all of the reaction.

Weyoun smiled. "I'm glad you remember. Keep that in mind before you try any heroics."

o0o

Kira knew, as soon as she was near Bajor, that it wasn't likely to succeed. There were too many ships. There was a chance they might land, but leaving with a full runabout and making it away without being destroyed would be almost impossible.

But she had to try. Sliding into the atmosphere she caught the attention of a Jem'Hadar ship. It fired, but the runabout was small and it wasn't that hard to avoid being hit. But she wasn't as lucky when the second ship fired.

The bolt of energy hit at midship. It wasn't strong enough to destroy the runabout, but it damaged a number of systems. She was hit several more times, and by then the runabout was nearly out of control.

But just nearly. It could still be nudged one direction or the other. Kira sent it away from the rendezvous point. At least she would not endanger any more of them and might be able to make it back on foot to get them to a much safer locations in the mountains.

o0o

Bashir was so tired he decided to try to sleep.

Late that night, he had again been awakened by a beep. There was another message. Taking a deep breath, he told himself they had done nothing to Weyoun. Or so he hoped. He had it patched into his quarters.

It was garbled and scratchy, but it was a working connection to Bajor. Kira's face filled the screen.

"You don't look very dead. According to Weyoun you were forced to land."

"He's right about that part. But they didn't find us. What matters is that we have the families. We're sending them to various places so it will be harder to find them."

"We can't transport them then."

"If you do, they'll destroy the ship. The fighting here won't last much longer. We have to get them into hiding now."

He was frustrated. He needed to help, but there was nothing he could do.

She could tell. She'd understood how he'd changed when he came back from the prison, too. He couldn't help Tain or Worf then, either.

"There is a request I'm to pass on. Any Bajorans on the station or elsewhere should be evacuated. Don't ask them. They will be needed away from Bajor."

That was a lot of people they hadn't planned on having along. It was going to be very crowded.

He assumed the authority he now had with his first command. The Antelope could arrive soon, and probably without warning. His first order was that everyone stay within the habitat ring or docking bay unless specially sent to somewhere else. When things got too much, people had been wandering to empty spaces for a respite, but they would not have time to look for them when the ship arrived. It hadn't been especially popular, but it kept the scattered Security people open for real problems. This one was going to be less popular.

"I will. I can't force anyone to go, but Weyoun offered to take care of any Bajorans who wanted to stay on the station."

"Interesting choice of words."

"I don't think he'll have any takers."

"Look, tell Odo goodbye for me."

He thought of Miles, and how hard it would be for him when he knew his family was lost, how many times he'd wish he'd found a way to stay behind. At least Odo would know before.

He watched the screen go blank. He pushed back his chair, staring at the screen as he forced open the door, no longer sliding open to his command.

There was a strange feeling on the station, a mixture of fear and worry and unity. Everyone knew that should they do something to offend the Dominion they would be dead and the station empty. He wasn't alone anymore. It was easier if everyone was scared, but concentrated on just doing what had to be done.

o0o

The Promenade was almost dark, a gloomy dark that matched night at the internment camp. In the deserted replimat, he sat alone. He had tried sleeping, but the nightmares were too vivid. He had listened to the reports from Bajor for awhile, but it just made things worse. Those left behind worked with a grim, relentless energy that helped push back all the fear. A few of the trusted had been sent to empty stores or cabins, tossing it all in the crates unsorted,. Something was found for all of them to do because it mattered that they keep busy.

It didn't help the growing sense of helplessness. The Rio Grande would not have really helped, but now they were trapped. Should he had stopped Kira? Would she have listened or gone anyway?

The next day, the transport would be back. Everything was ready. If the Dominion chose not to wait and took the station before then, he had condemned his patients to hell.

The grey light was too much of a reminder of that hell. A hand rested on his shoulder and he jumped..

"I didn't mean to startle you, Doctor. I thought you knew I was gathering here."

It was Garak. He was searching out useful things. Bashir hadn't even defined the word but knew Garak would find what others missed. "Just, preoccupied," he said.

"And tired.. I'm not medically trained, but even I can see you should perhaps get some sleep."

"I can do that later. I can't sleep anyway."

Garak pulled out a small part from his collection. "I stripped everything I could. I suppose we can find a use for it eventually." They were near the replimat. Chairs had been dragged out of the area, the machines ripped apart.

Bashir sat down, wishing it was over and the ship had come. He stared at the dim light and remembered it too well. Garak joined him. "Do you know what happens to us if we are taken prisoner?"

Garak sighed, resigned. "I suppose I would be executed. Perhaps you as well."

"I think I could live with that," said Bashir. "Rather that than spending the rest of my life in that hellhole."

There was a prolonged silence.

"Have you had any word from the Major?"

"A short message. The runabout was destroyed. She and the others got away. They are going to try to help the families, see if they can get them to a better hiding place. At least I can tell Miles they were alive this long. Assuming I have the chance."

There was another silence.

"I quite understand, Doctor. They are a little too close for comfort for myself as well."

It was ironic, he thought. Kira had understood. Garak had as well. Miles probably would have. But most of the people he'd called friends before, on Earth, would not have had a clue. At least not yet, he thought grimly.

Another silence came.

"You know, Doctor, since neither of us are likely to sleep, and this gloom isn't going to help, perhaps we should be making ourselves useful instead."

"That's a very good idea."

Garak disappeared into the replimat and returned with a small container. "I have plenty of pieces for the Chief to use to make us things."

Julian almost smiled, as they headed towards the dock where everything had to be properly organized and ready to be loaded the moment the ship arrived. Security would do a sweep to see if anyone had wandered and bring them back. And then, they would wait and hope it was over soon.

o0o

Right up to the last minute, they were still filling crates. There was still a pile of things to be sorted and packed. Instead it was simply packed. Nobody was in a mood to sleep, and Bashir had ordered everyone to stay close to the area. Anyone who didn't would be left behind. The only excursion would be to retrieve the few patients who needed to be in the Infirmary.

None of those left on the station for the second run expected a quick rescue. More ships had slid out of the wormhole, and all of them were headed toward the Federation. The comm system picked up news from Bajor, and none of that news was good either. Perhaps those who lived when the Cardassians had first taken Bajor might have disagreed, but so far the Dominion was proving a colder, more dangerous enemy than the old one. Acts of terrorism were met with ruthless destruction. The existing government of Bajor had been rounded up and shot. The Jem'Hadar were everywhere. The resistance would not last long.

The masters of the Dominion gave no value to the life of solids, not even their own soldiers. They could just make more.

If anything went wrong, the future would be a hard, cold place.

Then a young Bajoran ran into the dock without a word. The Antelope was almost there. The already frantic pace got worse, in hopes of packing a few more crates and saving a few more things which might someday make a difference.

The remaining patients were carried to the dock in preparation, cots ready for them to rest. When the old freighter docked with the station, everyone was waiting. All of the crates were lined up ready to move into the ship.

o0o

Aside from a headcount, nobody took records. The patients were carried in first, fortunately only a few, and given their own corner of a bay. The cargo was loaded by the rest, working together to load the three bays at once. One was completely filled. The others were lined with them leaving space in the middle for the passengers, one end of the larger one half filled.

Bashir made his last walk to Ops. Enough of main power was on to run the final program which would disable the computer and destroy the remaining controls. If an attack had come, he would have had to it trigger no matter what. The Dominion could take the station, but would have to fix it first.

It was done. The lights flashed and died. Every control went blank. He walked back to the docking bay as the last crates were loaded and the final crew was boarding.

Barrett asked him to the bridge. He was still carrying his bags, unsure where to put them. There was much less room than they'd imagined.

"Permission to leave dock?" asked Barrett.

"Certainly," said Bashir, and the Antelope retracted its docking locks and sailed away.

It had all been accomplished in less than an hour.

o0o

The delegation numbered four, though they represented twenty individuals wishing to leave for Bajor. Among them was Odo. The Antelope had just moved away from the station when they arrived.

Captain Barrett looked hard at them. Bashir was standing in the back, watching.

"It will be very fast," said Odo. "Just before you go to warp will be a good time."

"I see. You're assuming that I'm planning to go to warp."

"Captain," said one of the Bajorans, trying to look confident, "there are one hundred and fifty passengers on this ship which is currently equipped for no more than eighty. Having twenty less passengers could be very useful."

The Captain had looked at the two bays, filled way past capacity, and was worried about his ship. He studied Bashir, still watching from the back, and motioned for him to come forward.

Bashir looked exhausted. He studied the captain for a moment. "Yes?" he asked.

"You've been sitting in the middle of this target range for a couple of days. How risky is this?"

"There is some risk," said Bashir, a hint of warning in his tone.

"How much is some?"

Bashir paused, as if he had a moment of doubt which he'd disregarded. "Some. I don't know. Ask Weyoun if you want to know."

He gave the doctor an annoyed look.

"Will they destroy us if we beam these men over?"

Bashir paused for a moment, looking at the men who do desperately wanted to go home.

"They might. But if you time it right you can do it just before going to warp."

Barrett watched the doctor's face. Bashir wasn't saying it but it was plain he would risk it.

"In other words, you don't know. They might shoot us to pieces. Or they might let us go. But you'd do it. Tell me, why should I do this?"

"We want to be with our families." said the younger Bajoran that had said nothing yet. He was simple but very eloquent.

The captain stared at the four of them for a moment.

"All right, get them in position."

"We thank you," said the young man as they left the room.

Barrett watched, hoping it wasn't a bad idea. Before going to warp would be too far away, but he had another idea which might work.

o0o

The Antelope moved away slowly, this time taking a slightly different course than the first trip. This time she veered a bit closer to Bajor. Picking up speed, she sailed even nearer the planet, attempting to "skip" off the gravitational pull and increase speed.

It was a classic maneuver for slower ships, one even the Dominion should recognize.

At the closest proximity to Bajor, a signal beeped in the ship's transporter room. Ten men sparkled and vanished. Ten more rushed to take their place. A Starfleet engineer stood by the controls, watching for confirmation. "It's good," he said and the next ten were gone.

Then something hit the ship, shaking it violently. Apparently, the Dominion did mind, or knew about the transport. Grabbing the console, he looked at the instruments. "They made it. Let's hope we do."

Bashir, on the bridge, had grabbed the nearest chair when the ship was hit. Watching the confirmation button blink for the second group, he hoped he had not made a mistake as the freighter shot out at full impulse. Holding his breath, it proved to be a single warning shot. But this was an old ship and Barrett's people were already scrambling.

He thought about Kira's request for the Bajorans, but if they so desperately wanted to go home he wanted them to be able to. Be he was watching as Barrett's people were grimly studying several displays across the room. Perhaps he should have said no.

But it was done and could not be undone now.

His communicator chirped. He answered, tapping it lightly. "Doctor, we have injuries. Hurry up."

He took off in a sprint.

o0o

Most of the injuries were not critical, but there were far too many. Passengers with regular accommodations were better able to take direct hits to the ship than the Antelope's passengers. Bashir had had little sleep in the last few days, hardly any at all, and having patched up the casualties he stood ready to collapse himself.

Jabara guided him to an empty bed.

"You need sleep. We can handle things from here."

He'd wanted to check the other bay for problems before he went to sleep, but it seemed just too far away at the moment. "Wake me if anything comes up," he said, yawning.

"Certainly, Doctor. Only if it can't wait."

But he was already asleep.

o0o

Nurse Jabara covered him up and removed his boots, and watched both the doctor and his patients. Despite the exhaustion, he slept restlessly, almost falling off the narrow bed. He mumbled constantly, the words almost understandable, but the fear unmistakable. When he started sobbing she checked on him, worried, but he was still fast asleep. He was too tired to let the nightmares wake him up. She tried a sleep inducer, setting it on maximum, forcing him into a deeper sleep. The restless movement eased. Finally they stopped as the dreams ended. She was relieved. He had to get rest tonight because there would be little of it tomorrow.

Beyond the hospital area, she watched as the men worked quietly, and the shadows danced in the dim light.

It was going to be a long trip. She only hoped that was the last emergency.

o0o

Hours later, when he woke, he pulled the sleep inducer from his forehead. It was so quiet. He'd been dreaming, a distant, pleasant dream, and stayed very still with his eyes closed. He let his dream fade slowly, finally remembering where he was. The Antelope must still be safe, he thought. At least the panic before the ship arrived was done. Now they would wait.

He was still exhausted, but much less, and opened his eyes.

The bay was so still. It was a murky dark except for lights attached to the beds. Beyond, where the furniture had been were mats and cots and beds. Most of the space was taken up by them. Sleeping forms filled almost all.

He wondered how long Jabara had let him sleep. The feeling that this wasn't real was fading, and he marveled at the energy the others had had. When boarding, nothing had been organized. He liked the feel of the room, so dark and quiet. He wasn't the only one needing sleep. Sitting up, he looked around, relieved his patients were also resting. There were no empty beds that should have been filled. The nurses would have awakened him, of course, but sometimes there wasn't time for that.

It was peaceful here. After the rush and panic of the days before it was so welcome. Whatever the future brought, he'd always remember that moment.

He hated to leave. But he was in command here, at least of the passengers, and had to fill his role. He stretched, stepping down from the low cot, so different from his own bed. Or what had been his.

The station was gone now. It belonged to them. The fear was better here, not so overwhelming, but it would never really leave him. He reached for his boots, but they'd been moved. Standing, he folded the blanket and put it back on the cot.

Someone else would need it later. There were so many more people here than space. But they'd already made it better.

Walking softly so as not to wake anyone, he moved towards the nurse. She looked up, holding up a boot. He barely knew her, one of the Starfleet personnel that had arrived very recently. He came to get his boots, and whispered softly, unwilling to break the spell. "Someone had a good idea."

"We were told the ship had reduced speed because of the damage and it was going to be at least another day, maybe two. You're not the only one who needed sleep, so we made a quiet area."

She spoke in hushed tones. He looked over her list of patients, trying to see if any were worse. He didn't want to make noise and disturb anyone. "Any problems?" he finally asked.

"No. Mostly they're catching up on sleep."

He nodded, sticking the boots under his arm. "I'll be looking around if you need me. Good work."

She nodded. "Food's in the big bay," she whispered.

He realized he was hungry. There had been too much to do before to worry about eating.

"What is there to eat?" he asked, hoping for real food. Barrett had replicators on this tub.

"Rations. Replicators are down from the damage," she whispered.

Somehow, it didn't surprise him. It was as if it had always been that way. The unreality of the day was fading. This half-lit world was beginning to be more real than the one they'd left.

He sighed. "I got the impression if they weren't he wouldn't offer, especially after the transport."

"There are some bad rumors, Sir."

"Yes?"

"They say there's a lot of damage. Nobody's sure what that means, except the crew looked very unhappy."

"I wouldn't be surprised if they always did, but I'll ask."

"Thank you, Sir. Nobody will tell us anything."

o0o

Stepping carefully past the patients, carrying his shoes, he was relieved that he wasn't needed right then. He had to find out what had happened. He needed to see how well the others were doing and what they'd done with the rest of the space. Stepping outside, he slipped on his shoes and headed for the other bay.

The murmur was noticeable outside in the hallway. Stepping inside, he was surprised the volume wasn't as loud as he expected. It was full of people trying to fill the time. After the rush, now there was time to think. Some sat eating their rations, nibbling them slowly. Some were reading, lost in other worlds. A few just sat, staring at the walls and crates that surrounded them.

Looking around the room, he noticed Garak sitting in a corner by himself. Taking out his own rations, he picked up a cup of water from a dispenser and sat next to the Cardassian.

Chairs had been lined up along the wall of crates, and Garak had picked a corner to sit, back to the wall. "Greetings, Doctor. I must say you look much more refreshed."

"I feel better." He opened one of the ration packets. Idly, he began chewing off hunks of it. They were very nutritious, but he couldn't think of anything else to recommend them.

"I'm sorry to say I've already dined," said Garak

Bashir was hungry and continued to eat. When he was done he added, "I wouldn't call this dining exactly."

"I suppose you've been told about the rumor."

"Yes."

"Perhaps the captain will see fit to inform you about the ship's condition."

"I've already been asked to see him," mumbled Bashir, watching the people.

"You know, it is amazing. This entire re-organization was done very cooperatively and quickly. You may be not as important as you think."

"Some of these people have had much worse to put up with. I hope the mood stays this cooperative, though."

"When you're done with your discussion with the captain I believe you'll have a lot of listeners."

Bashir's badge chirped. Barrett was ready..

o0o

Captain Barrett was in a no-nonsense mood.

"Doctor, I have some bad news. That hit we took didn't seem too severe, but this is an old tub, and it wouldn't take much. Our engines were somewhat damaged. It's going to be a lot longer trip that was planned."

Bashir wasn't surprised. "How long a trip, then?" he ask carefully.

"I can't guarantee a figure, but if nothing else goes wrong, probably another week. I think you'll have enough food. Comfort is another thing. But I can't help you there."

In his head he tried to remember how many extra crates of food had been brought. Not enough, probably. That was for after they arrived at the drop-off point.

"It's a bit more than lack of comfort," he said carefully. "People are doing all right now, but they are going to be rather frustrated in a week."

"I know, Doctor. I have eyes. And a *nose* as well. I don't like it either, but I can't do anything about it."

"We have some of the engineering personnel on board. Perhaps they could help."

"If we had the parts, I'd be glad to let them. But I'm afraid we're stripped bare. All we have is you."

"Is there *anything* we can do to help?" he asked, hopefully.

"Not really. I'd suggest that you start some kind of rationing. They won't like it, but I really can't

guarantee it will take *only* a week. I'll still get you there."

Bashir couldn't think of anything else to say. They wouldn't be happy, but under the circumstances people would cooperate. "I guess we all do our best, then, Captain."

It was going to be a very long week.

o0o

The mood did not last. The announcement that they had another week on the Antelope did nothing to make it better. Federation rations were dull and tasteless, but having to extend them was worse. Nobody would go hungry; the rations were designed to be extendable without effecting health. But it didn't make anybody any happier.

And then there were the rumors, which persisted at a never-slowing pace. One system after another had gone off-line on the Antelope. The crew transporters were the latest to fail. That would mean no one could beam off the ship. That could be a critical problem.

The refusal of the DS9's engineers' help was another bad blow. There was a deep suspicion among the passengers that there was much more damage than anyone was willing to say.

o0o

The first few days had gone well, considering they hadn't really had room for amusements in their bags. People read, or played games, or talked quietly with friends. They were trying hard to look agreeable.

But boredom set in-that and the effect of the short rations. They weren't hungry, but weren't full either. It was making everybody a little more hair-trigger with the tempers.

With time to sleep, everyone became rested. Then they had too much energy, but nowhere to use it. And then they couldn't sleep.

Bashir had pulled the remaining Security people together to keep an eye out for fights. They had broken up more than a few, though luckily there had been no real injuries. But security couldn't always be there, and just in case Medical had a trauma team ready at all times.

o0o

Bashir was tired. He'd slept, on and off, but he didn't really rest. The rumors of more failures continued to grow, and Barrett continued to refuse help. He'd ask for confirmation of the ship's status, but Barrett had ignored him. Boredom was hitting them now, and even little things about your neighbor became annoying. Attempts at organizing some distraction had not really worked. Nobody was in the mood.

All they wanted was to get to the planet where the others had gone and get off the ship.

It was hard to sleep. Every time he managed, there was another problem he had to deal with. He was ready to reach this Ag colony and let Sisko worry about decisions, too.

But there were few patients and things had been relatively calm. One of the beds was empty and he needed a nap. He could even sleep now. After the palpable threat on the station, the relative sense of safety was a relief. The nightmares had finally faded enough he could actually rest.

The nurse, however, was waking him again after a few hours.

"Doctor, wake up. There is an emergency."

He responded to the tone. Shaking off sleep, he grabbed his field kit and followed her.

They hurried to the main bay. There were three men. All were drunk. One had a large knife sticking out of his side.

"Get some Security over here," he ordered, pointing at the other two. Running a tricorder over the knife, he added "Get a stretcher ready too. He's bleeding internally."

Using a wad to apply pressure against the wound, he slid out the knife. Security people carefully took the weapon and bagged it.

He started working on the patient with a couple of nurses to control the bleeding. The knife had nicked a few internal organs, which needed repairing, but it wasn't a fatal wound. A crowd had gathered to watch, enjoying the show since there wasn't much else to do.

Bashir was feeling crowded. He looked up, getting Security's attention. "Get these people out of the way."

Security began breaking up the disappointed crowd.

Everyone fervently hoped that they got to where ever they were going soon.

o0o

A few hours later, the patient asleep and recovering, he dealt with the other drunks. "How did the fight start?" he asked.

The booze was wearing off, and they were feeling wary. "Rations," one of them said.

It figured. They were all a little edgy over that. "Where did the alcohol come from?"

The two eyed each other. They pointed vaguely towards the hospital area. "He had it."

Bashir was tired and wanted to try getting some sleep again. He wasn't in the mood for this. "That really doesn't matter. What matters is you were drunk." They were just sober enough to be reasoned with, he thought.

"How did it happen?" he asked them, impatiently.

"It was an accident," said the younger of the two. "He was gonna take my rations. He rushed me. I was trying to get the knife out of his way, but . . . . "

Tired and irritable, he asked, exasperated, "And who owns the knife?"

The older one spoke, quite calm. "Oh, that's mine. Hunting knife . . . . "

"Too bad we can't go hunt some Jem'Hadar with it," piped in the younger one.

An unpleasant memory flashed in Bashir's head. He remembered the sound the knife had made in the Jem'Hadar as he stabbed it into his neck.

His impatience vanished. He became very quiet. Everyone noticed.

"All right, the patient will survive. Both of you will be detained," he said, looking at the Security people, implying that *where* was their problem, "by Security until we reach the drop off point." He didn't care how they managed this as long as he didn't get awakened again by them.

He went back to bed but couldn't sleep. He watched Garak die again when he finally did.

But everyone was very quiet for the last day before they arrived at their future.

o0o

The tension, approaching their destination, was almost as bad as just before the Antelope's second docking. The last news, such as it was, that they had heard was over two weeks old. During the long trip from the station, no communications had been possible because of jamming. It wasn't until they were less than a day away from the destination that they were able to get a message through to the small agricultural colony where they would be left. Even then, the signal was weak; the jamming extended even that far. Everyone knew about the jamming. Nobody really wanted to consider what it meant. They just wanted to get there.

o0o

Bashir knew it wouldn't be good news when Captain Barrett asked him into his office again. In six hours they would arrive. He couldn't wait to turn over his first command to Sisko.

Bad news was an understatement.

Barrett was listening to music, an ancient folksong. He looked up as Bashir entered.

"The Antelope sloop was a sickening sight

How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now

She'd list to the port and her sails in rags

And the cook and the scuppers with the slaggers and jags

God damn them all

I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold

We'd fire no guns, shed no tears

Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier

The last of Barrett's Privateers"

"An old time Canadian folk singer named Stan Rogers. We always fancied that somehow we were relatives." Barrett took a deep breath.

Bashir stared at Barrett, more worried than before.

"Guess it's kind of ironic. Another Antelope. Funny, when I got this command they'd already named her."

"How bad?" asked Bashir, wishing he could go back and make the Bajorans stay.

The music played. Barrett did not want to say the words. Bashir wasn't sure he wanted to hear them either.

"Then at length she stood two cables away

How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now

Our cracked four-pounder made an awful din

But with one fat ball the Yank stove us in"

Then Barrett explained.

He stared at the captain, utterly stunned. Their only option was to land, but it would be on the ships belly and it wasn't designed for that.

"What are our chances?" he finally asked.

Barrett was listening to the song.

"The Antelope shook and pitched on her side

How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now

Barrett was smashed like a bowl of eggs

And the main trunk carried off both me legs"

Barrett looked up, but would not look at him. "We're going to beam all the cargo down first, and that will help. I can't safely beam you down with the cargo transporter, the safety filters just aren't good enough. Same for some of the medical supplies, anything biological. If they were newer the safties would be a lot better but I wouldn't put anything alive in them." Silence ensued as the song finished.

"God damn them all

I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold

We'd fire no guns, shed no tears

Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier

The last of Barrett's Privateers"

Barrett switched it off as the song started playing over. "We've tried to fix the crew transporters, but we just don't have the parts. So we are going to do our best."

Bashir remembered Garak's bin of replicator parts. "We have a bin of parts from the station's replicators. Probably other odds and ends. I'm not sure where but if there is any chance."

Barrett looked towards his engineer. The man walked towards them. "Unless you have a new coil its not going to help. Some of it might work for other things, but without transporters we're still stuck with the same options."

Bashir thought of the amount of injuries they had sustained just from one hit. If the captain's plan for a controlled descent without landing gear didn't work there were going to be a lot of deaths. Even if it succeeded there would be many seriously injured.

"Can you beam the supplies off and get us somewhere else there is help?" he asked, knowing the chances.

"If I could. But that could take weeks. We get nothing here, no communications except for that weak signal from Cyrus. Nothing but that and jamming."

Bashir allowed some of the implications to sink in. "My people might prefer to take their chances further away then."

"And die in space when they wipe us out?" asked Barrett.

"If you could get us to the rendezvous," he suggested.

"Not a chance. I guess we'll be stranded with you whatever happens. If we could leave you I have no idea what we would do with ourselves. I have had none, and I repeat NO communications at all for over two weeks."

Bashir took a deep breath, wondering why the Dominion had just not taken them prisoner on the station and made it simple.

"Then I need to contact Captain Sisko. They need to be ready for us."

"Certainly, Doctor. As soon as you're ready."

"Just in case, our engineering people will want to see if there is anything you missed. I'm not doubting your people, but in this case if there is even a small chance . . . . " Bashir's voice was steady, only his eyes betraying the fear, he thought.

"Just bring them in. I'm sure my people would welcome the help."

Bashir wondered if his people could have helped a week ago. Now he'd never know.

"How soon do you want to tell them?" asked the captain.

"As soon as possible, I think. If not, the rumors will be worse. And just in case, they should have a chance to leave something behind." His tone was very somber.

Barrett eyed him. "I wish I could make promises, Doctor. I prefer truth."

"I appreciate that, Captain. Thank you."

o0o

He kept the announcement short and his voice even. He doubted it would give them much confidence but he had to try.

"With the help of the crew," he finished, "we will move to the safest possible locations. Captain Barrett believes that a controlled descent is possible, and should the location be ideal, injuries should be minimal."

The audience was silent, stunned as he had been an hour ago. As the last act of his command, he had to tell them the ship would crash land, or worse. It did not bode well for any of their futures..

o0o

The Bajorans were holding some sort of ceremony. It was somber and quiet, and a handful of the Starfleet personal had moved closer to watch, most of whom had been stationed on DS9 since the beginning. They were listening closely, sitting just a little back from the others. Something was being passed around, and when it came to the end of the assembly, one of the Bajorans carried it back a row to the human onlookers. Slowly realizing they were invited to join in, they moved their chairs closer.

After his announcement, anyone wishing to leave a message for Cyrus could send one. They were being packaged and would be sent just before their landing. Bashir had chosen to believe that is what it would be but many of the others had not.

Sitting near the end of the bay, watching the ceremony, Bashir noticed Garak approach.

"I will miss our lunches, Doctor. I assume that whatever happens it will be difficult. I suspect you will be rather busy."

"I'd rather not think about that right now, if you don't mind," said Bashir quietly.

"I assume our chances are somewhat less rosy than your speech implies."

"According to what I'm told, it really does depend on all those conditions."

"And this is the Captain telling you these things, I take it," said Garak.

"Captain Barrett and his chief engineer. I suspect the real truth is they really don't know."

"I assume they still maintain that they only recently discovered the fused control as well."

"Of course. At this point I'm not sure. There has been a lot of . . .half-answers from the start."

"Just as the answers you gave about the beam-out to Bajor," reminded Garak.

It stung a little. "Perhaps. It is true that I really didn't know what they'd do. And I suppose it wouldn't have helped the situation if we'd had this to think about." He stretched, tiredly. "Twenty more people here wouldn't have been that much."

Garak looked him in the eyes. "You don't know that was the reason. Perhaps it was the close pass towards Bajor. And it's done. It can't be changed now."

Bashir watched as the cup was passed around the group. "Like the fused control." He paused, watching Garak. "I think I'm looking forward to not being in charge of anyone but my patients. I'd like to just be a doctor again."

The two men sat and watched as the ceremony drew more of the onlookers, Garak finally speaking. "If this does not go well, I hope you'll remember our lunches. It was a most pleasant way to spend a meal."

Bashir just stared at the room. He remembered the first time he'd met Garak, and the way he'd hurried to tell Sisko about the Cardassian. But Garak was a friend now, and that time seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Yes. Perhaps it can be again." But he knew, deep inside, that that world was as dead as the station.

o0o

All the cargo which could be moved was on the surface. All the passengers and crew had been moved to the most shielded parts of the ship. It was time.

Hunched down with his medkit in hand, Bashir held his breath in anticipation of the alarm that would signal the deceleration and attempted landing. Or controlled crash. He had his staff scattered among the others, ready with medkits, just in case.

Garak whispered, "I recommend deep breaths, Doctor."

He blew out his breath slowly, feeling his pulse slow a little.

The alarm sounded and they all covered their heads.

The first sensation was of falling, as the ship dropped faster than normal into the atmosphere, giving it speed to attempt to glide. For those hunched over on the deck, the desire was strong to find something to hold tight to.

The ship began a sudden drop, and for a moment they were weightless. Those who could, grabbed on to whatever they could reach. As the ship evened its descent, gravity reasserted itself and they dropped. Bashir was one of the lucky ones who lay flat on the deck trying to breath from the impact. Others were unconscious, or injured, but nobody could help them then.

For a time the ride was smooth. Then something went wrong. Bashir could feel the ship tilting down, going too fast, and put his arms over his head. Then, suddenly, the ship righted itself and everyone around him started to breath again.

But it was falling very fast. Everything inside was shaking, the vibrations loosening clamped wall plates and other, less well secured things. Nothing fell around them, but they could hear things crash in other places.

There would be more injuries. Bashir put his head down on his hands, arms folded over his head and knees tucked under.

He'd have a lot to do when they hit. The ship was already starting to fall apart.

Then, suddenly, the ship tilted again, worse this time. People slid down the deck in front of him, blocking his own slide. They grabbed onto each other and a few protruding edges to keep from falling.

The speed was worse. The ship was plummeting straight down when it smashed into the ground.

The shock rippled through the ship. Metal seams started to buckle, and the warm outside air rushed inside. Ducts, their sides ruptured, spilled over people and walls. The heavy odor of chemicals pervaded the ship. Anyone awake who could stand started to scramble to safety.

But some still lay unconscious, not even knowing they were breathing poison. Some were trapped, desperately trying to dig themselves out before it was too late. The ship was still breaking up, supports snapping and walls bending into odd curves.

They knew it might crash, but expected it to land on its belly. Those trapped inside were placed in the safest places for that kind of crash, not one head-on into a heap of sand.

The chemicals were so strong it was hard to breath. Here and there, where people were trapped, the screams echoed through the broken wreck.

Everyone in Bashir's group had gotten free except two in the back, and Bashir and Garak tried to check on them. They were already dead. Above them, several beams were swaying, ready to fall. Garak pulled the doctor away, Bashir trying to scramble out.

But not fast enough. One beam fell, and its jagged edge, covered in some sticky fluid, was pinning his leg on the ground, cutting deeply into the flesh.

He didn't scream. He could feel the burning sensation of the fluid on the exposed tissue, and was rapidly going into shock.

Garak let go of him and began to lift the beam. One of the Bajorans began to drag the now unconscious doctor away from the obstacle in a trail of blood.

The ceiling collapsed after the beams had fallen, trapping Garak under a heavy pile of metal scraps and dripping fluids. He was either unconscious or dead, making no sound, but there was no time to move the rubble and find out.

Garak's exile had finally ended.

end, Legacy Year 1, Part 1-Flight

"Barrett's Privateers" is © Fogarty's Cove Music. May Stan and his wonderful music be remembered forever.

He was a courageous man who died saving the victims of the runway fire of an Air Canada Flight in Cincinnati, in 1983. He was also a brilliant songwriter and his concerts were magic. I'd like to think that his legacy would still be around in Star Trek's time.


	4. Part 2Transience Chapter 3

LEGACY

An Alternative History of the Dominion War

Year 1

Part 2 - Transience

Chapter 3

Lonnie was watching him as he chose the gift, especially as he carefully unwrapped and untied each piece of the decoration. He had done that as a child and it had become his trademark. Her gift and the one from Mr. Vance were the only ones done up with all the extra tape and ribbons. Mr. Vance was a friend of the family, but she must have asked about the ribbons. It touched him. He saved her gift for last so the day would end up being something more like home.

It was heavy. She had grinned at his remark about it being a box of socks. Carefully peeling off each ribbon, he was eager to see what was hidden inside. He looked up as he pulled loose the final piece of paper, noting her own anticipation. All he could see was a nondescript box, but the top was taped shut as well. He toyed with the top, watching her from the corner of his eye and enjoying her anticipation.

"Ok, James, enough, open it up," said Dr. Willman, laughing.

With a last quick turn of a small knife, he carefully slipped off the top. Excited, he peaked inside before touching any of his surprise. But he had not anticipated anything like this. Totally awed, he gushed, "Wow, this is ...perfect." For a moment, he wished he could have found a better word, but ceased to care as he pulled out the first of his treasures.

Reverently, he held up the small container to the light, noting the shimmering colors. He'd heard of this kind of paint, but it was special and not many tried it. He'd dreamed of this kind of art supplies. His eyes shining, he carefully laid it on the table and took the next container from the box. One by one, he sheltered them protectively in his hand as if priceless, and carefully lined them up next to each other. It was an unimaginable treasure. Everyone had given him something, but this gift had made it a real birthday party.

The last gift having been opened, his audience drifted off, heading towards the food. Lonnie stayed, watching as he was spreading out the contents on the table. He stroked the little tubes and boxes with the strange markings that she had found. Totally absorbed in his gift he didn't see her come up to him. "I'm glad you like them. I wasn't sure they'd get here in time for your birthday."

A little startled, he asked, "How did you find some of this?"

"I have sources. I used to have some of this," she said, picking up a small cube of iridescent rock.

"That's right, you said you'd done some art. This is pretty rare stuff for a hobby."

"Well, it was a little more than a hobby. I was attending the Art Academy at Caldar."

He grinned. "You were? My grandfather says I'm going to get in the next session. He wants me to come home in a few months. I'm gonna be paroled from this rock."

"Good for you. You'll love it there. Everybody tried to talk me into staying but I was keeping somebody like you from getting in."

"I don't get it. Why would you quit? It's so hard to get in," he said, amazed.

Lonnie was thinking. "My family got me in. They were sure I'd discover I really did like art. I discovered that I really didn't. It's nice enough for an occasional hobby, but that's about all." She sighed. "Now for you it's life. I can understand that feeling. That was how I felt about nursing."

James considered that. "My grandfather wanted to be a musician. But he grew up on a little dust heap like this and never really had the chance. He is the one part of my family that really understands about art."

"Oh, my family never liked the idea. If I had to do it, I should at least be a doctor. They couldn't understand I didn't want that."

"You're almost a doctor, with all those certifications."

"Ah, but that was to qualify for a post like this."

He studied her, a little curious. "That's one thing I don't get about you. Why would you want to end up on a dusty rock like this? I mean, if you're that good, you could have gone anywhere."

She looked resigned. "That's something you'll never understand. I felt stifled on Earth. It was all too easy. Here we have challenges. The soil we've made is real, it's living. We're going to make this place come alive. I really wish you could understand."

She was glowing from the reverie. James was polite, but didn't find it impressive. It was the same way with all the hardy pioneers on this rock. Personally, he liked being suffocated by all the conveniences. "I guess not," he said, and shrugged.

o0o

The awkward moment was rescued by Mr. Vance, accompanied by one of his aides who was looking at James's assortment of treasure. "Very nice, James, but food's ready," said Vance.

Rafferson added, joking, "Come on, kid, you've got hungry people here." James nodded and began carefully storing his gifts in the box, first holding each reverently. Mr. Vance understood his family's tradition, especially the picnic and the birthday person being the first through the line. His father and Vance were good friends, and it was as a personal favor that James had been sent here during his parents' bitter divorce. At least that was done now, and he could go home.

The food was good, nothing unusual for the Cyrus colony, but James did appreciate the attempt at cheering him up with the proper party. Lonnie had wandered off, and he sat down on one of the little benches to eat his lunch. He looked across the small square, currently covered with a lacy, grass-like moss. At a distance it almost passed for grass. The guests had bunched together around the tables and were eating. Even for his birthday party, it wasn't unusual for James to go off alone. James had never, and would never, fit in here.

He was touched by the party, but it still wasn't home. Everything was too quiet. All the children should be here playing in the sun, and he missed their laughter. Despite his determination to at least feign good spirits, he was starting to feel his usual gloom. At least it would be dusk soon and they would all go home, and leave him to his treasures. He would put the other gifts away later. Those were all practical items, things people would replicate for themselves anywhere but here. Here, the replicator was on a need-only basis. Everyone but James thought it was a good idea.

Lonnie broke his gloomy mood with a tap on the shoulder. "You have some messages, birthday boy. They just came in." He handed her his food and sprinted for the communications building.

o0o

An hour later, his mood was much better. He didn't even care that his food was cold when he retrieved it from Lonnie and motioned that she should come. Finding a more private place, he blurted out his news. "My grandfather just heard. I've been accepted. I start the next session."

She didn't have to ask where. "So, you got a happy birthday after all. I'm so glad for you." She shook his hand. "Do you want to announce it?"

"Not yet. I want to tell my family personally and if Mr. Vance hears, they will."

She nodded. "When are you leaving?"

"The next supply ship. Just two more months and you can all be pioneers without me."

She laughed. "Believe it or not some of us will miss you."

James enjoyed the rest of his sixteenth birthday. Foremost among his thoughts were that his seventeenth birthday would be much different.

o0o

The two leveled areas, arraigned like stair steps, were of impressive size. The upper level was a little narrower than the lower, and not as flat, but it was only meant to hold the machines. The lower area was much wider, and both men saw something very different than the crumbly rock surface that existed today. They saw lush farmland. In the next few days they would begin loading the terraforming equipment in place and start the process of making a dream into reality. It was a heady moment for both.

"Remember when we first proposed this?" mused Justin Blanchard, who had spent a lifetime working towards this moment.

Walter Vance smiled. "They said we were crazy. We couldn't make useable land that fast." Both men gazed toward the smaller test field where the spring crop had been so recently been planted. That had proven the method worked. In one season they had turned the crumbling rocky soil of this world into rich loam, using only carefully measured chemicals, heat and pressure. This field would make them famous. But more importantly, it would prove they were right. As friends and partners they looked forward to presenting the report this field would make possible, and most of all to their victory over the opponents that had denied them so long.

For fifteen years they had shared a dream and fought to make it real. Justin Blanchard was no politician but he was a brilliant chemist. His continued improvements to the already simple process had made it feasible to use on large areas like the newly graded field. Walter Vance was also a scientist, but he had the contacts. While he had grown to hate the dog and pony show, he had spent his time appealing to anyone who would listen. In the end, he had succeeded. The scientific establishment within the Federation was still not interested, but plenty of other places were. Justin had worried about their backers, questioning their motives, but when the wealth of support had come, especially the technology they had only been able to dream of, he had capitulated. The colony, built and laid out just to their wishes had been the final prize. Walter's only worry was its isolation, and proximity to Cardassian space, but there had been no trouble.

It was to their mysterious backers that Vance and Blanchard owed the culmination of their dream. For the two men, it had become the single driving force in their lives. To shatter the dream would be nothing less than to shatter the dreamers.

"When do we start?" asked Blanchard impatiently.

Vance was still studying the little field. "We already have," he said proudly as the two men fell into reflective silence.

o0o

"Then that's it?" asked Lonnie, watching as her boss studied the latest result of the ailing replicator.

"So far off it's useless," sighed Dr. Willman. Everybody knew how much he hated machines. He used them to treat his patients, but didn't like depending too much on technology. He usually kept it to himself, but quiet comments under his breath today made it plain that he was thinking of it. Raising his foot, he clearly wanted to give the replicator a swift kick. "No telling when we'll get a replacement. Do a complete survey of what we have. Hope there are no emergencies. I've got to see Vance about communications."

Lonnie was mildly concerned over the recent problems with communications since James' birthday. "James said he couldn't get his parents, just a lot of noise. He said it's been getting worse every time he tried."

Willman was trying to cover his worry but wasn't doing too well. "Last time I tried we couldn't get anything. Nothing but static. Considering how long it takes, I've got to get a request in for another one of these," he said, tapping the replicator with his foot. "I'll be in Vance's office," he said.

"He won't like that," suggested Lonnie. "Perhaps over lunch would be better."

"No. He has to listen in his office," grumbled Willman as he left.

o0o

Walter Vance disliked meetings. After so many years of promoting his dream in hundreds of them, he carefully avoided them now. When he met with his staff it was over lunch or for an afternoon picnic. Vance used the office for privacy when he had things on his mind. Willman knew that and had invaded the sanctuary, but wouldn't leave.

That was what was so annoying about Dr. Willman. After more than two years, Vance still could not bring himself to call the doctor by his nickname Willy, as nearly everyone else did. The doctor was generally easygoing, but his argumentative side deeply perturbed Vance. Both were stubborn men, and they were civil but never friendly. Vance knew they should understand each other, but for one important difference. Willman had made his own discoveries and quietly accepted his disappointment when his work was ignored. Vance could not forget how the Federation had never taken he and Justin seriously.

"I would think you would be more concerned with communications," said Willman, "since we are on the far edge of nowhere."

Vance disliked being lectured. "I am, Doctor. But exactly what am I suppose to do about it? I've had technical support look over the unit. It's working fine. The problem is coming from up there," he said, pointing to the sky. "I can't fix that."

"The last time I looked it wasn't even being monitored. I suggest you at least have somebody on duty around the clock in case something does come through. I spoke to James. He has a scanning system set up that should alert us to anything that gets through even if it is garbled. But you have to have somebody there to hear it."

"Ok, Doctor, I'll do that. I can't think of anything else. It's happened before. It's always been natural phenomenon."

Willman was leaning over him now. Vance hated being trapped. "But what if it isn't this time?" asked Willman in a deadly quiet tone.

Vance was getting angry. They knew of the tensions beyond their little retreat, but all Cyrus could do was hope. There had been problems with the comm system before due to ion storms and until he knew different he would not give into the paranoia. "We hope they ignore us, I guess," he said sarcastically. Willman had come to Cyrus to get away from the smugness of the Federation, but had brought with him an ingrained sense of paranoia which Vance was not about to feed.

Willman glared at him. "And when they don't, then what do we do?"

The stare was disturbing, and Vance wanted the conversation to end. And it had struck a cord. He had been raised in part in the forgotten places where things like poverty and hunger were still part of life, and one of their wars had killed his father. He could not allow himself to believe that could ever touch Cyrus. "Let us just hope we never have to find out." Willman looked away, apparently satisfied. "Now, as to why you're here. How is the replicator doing?"

Willman looked annoyed. "Functionally dead, at least. The tech staff is stumped. I must have a replacement *very* soon."

"I understand," said Vance. "I'll go to our sponsors if nothing else. I'm sure they can get a replacement here before the regular supply run." Vance would emphasis that their hospital was there in part for any ships with medical emergencies in the area, not just for themselves. And with the uncertainty, it left them very vulnerable. But he would not give that to Willman. He had learned a few things in his hundreds of meetings.

"Good," said Willman, "Tell them it's urgent." He wasn't happy, but had made his point.

Wondering how he was going to make this request, Vance reached for his lunch, growing cold, as Willman left with the two men in a state of truce.

o0o

James was on duty at communications when the Antelope made their first contact. The comm line, which had been giving off little more than static, suddenly came to life. "Cyrus 3, this is the Antelope, do you read?"

James had been daydreaming. His voice sounded a little startled when he answered. "Antelope, this is Cyrus. You're scratchy but we can read you."

"My name is Captain Barrett. I need to talk to someone in authority there."

"That would be Director Vance. I'll send for him."

"Contact will be resumed in five minutes," said Barrett.

James heard it from the door, already searching for someone to relay a message. As no one was in sight, he started running.

o0o

Walter Vance was having a quiet lunch and did not want to be disturbed. Willman had asked again that morning about the replicator and Vance had replied that he was trying. The communications silence was starting to actively worry Vance. They had never had a situation like this last so long. He was trying to clear the worry for a little while over lunch when James burst in the door. Vance was annoyed, at first expecting Willman again. James knew better but at least he would leave. "Could you at least knock, James. And can't it wait?"

But he couldn't miss the breathless rush of words. "I'm sorry, Sir, but it's real important. We got somebody on communications," gushed James, with a sudden breath interrupting, "that wants to talk to you."

Vance lowered his fork, studying the young man's eagerness. He wasn't sure what to make of it, but any break in the silence was welcome. "He asked for me by name?"

"Well, someone in authority. That would be you. They will resume contact any minute now."

Vance left his lunch alone and motioned the young man out the door.

o0o

"Cyrus, this is the Antelope. Do you read?"

"That's Barrett," said James.

"This is Walter Vance, Director of the Cyrus 3 Experimental Agricultural Colony. Is this Captain Barrett?"

"It is. I have a surprise for you, Mr. Vance. I'm beaming down Captain Sisko first so he can explain the emergency."

Vance was a little stunned. Barrett's tone was deadly serious. If something had happened and they were being ordered to evacuate, he couldn't bear the thought of leaving now when they were so close. James was staring at the comm unit with awe.

"Be reasonable. What's going on that you can't tell me now?" Vance tried to sound confident, but knew he didn't quite manage.

"You're going to have some temporary visitors. We're in the middle of an evacuation."

Vance could hear the annoyance in the captain's voice, but the news of visitors was more alarming. Where would Cyrus, with its tiny population, put them? "Captain, I don't know what's going on here, but we don't have any facilities for visitors."

"I'm aware of that, but there are a few things you don't know yet. Captain Sisko will explain."

Vance stared at the comm unit while James looked around. Suddenly, a tall black man in Starfleet uniform appeared from the sparkle in the corner. He smiled diplomatically at Vance and James, and walked forward.

Vance had stood up. Shaking Vance's hand, the man introduced himself. "I'm Captain Benjamin Sisko, and we have the first group of evacuees from Deep Space Nine. We're going to have to stay here for a little while."

"Evacuees?" asked Vance, swamped by the word. "Why is there an evacuation?"

"Because the Dominion fleet attacked my station, and we didn't have a choice. I've had to leave some of my people behind and Barrett has to go back for them. So we need to stay here temporarily. The Dominion fleet is watching the station. I don't know how long they will wait before taking it and my people."

Sisko's tone was nothing to argue with. Vance still didn't like the idea but didn't see a choice. The news of the Dominion attack and an impending war did not yet register. "How many people do you have?"

"About 300."

Vance tried to imagine where that many people would go. Despite his growing fears, the reason for their need wasn't real yet. It was easier to think of Cyrus swamped with strangers but he looked up at the sky just the same, wondering if the alien ships were following after. "I don't know where we are going to put 300 people," was all he could manage to say.

"Mr. Vance, we have our own supplies. We don't want to disturb your people. I just want my own people safe. Do you have a problem with that?" Sisko's voice was terse and impatient.

Vance disliked the tone, especially as he had not meant his comment that way. Sisko knew of the attack already and was used to it. Vance was still trying to believe it wasn't a bad dream. "Captain," he said slowly, "I don't have a problem with that. I was simply saying that we don't have a lot of areas big enough to hold that many people. But we'll find one." He paused, his hesitation plain even to Sisko. "The attack, how bad, how many ships?"

Sisko stared at him in silence. "Too many," he said grimly. Then, he impatiently paced to the door, Vance and James following. Speaking to his ship, Sisko tapped his commbadge. "Begin sending supplies down at my signal. We're looking for a location."

Vance followed him out of the door, catching up outside. Sisko had left the settlement and was standing on the twin platforms. "Captain, this attack. Can you tell us anything? We haven't been able to get much from long-range communications for a couple of days."

"It's being jammed by the Dominion. The bulk of their fleet headed towards the Federation. I will need to contact Starfleet."

Vance was stunned. Somehow, the nightmare that loomed in the distance became more real. But like Sisko, he kept it pushed away. "If you can. We haven't had much luck."

"I'll have some of my people look at the equipment. Maybe they can boost it a bit." Sisko was looking around at the large and relatively flat expanse they were standing on. "This looks useable."

His disappointment over the test only momentary, Vance replied quietly, "We'd just finished preparing it for terraforming, but you can have it for now. Won't it be a bit crowded?"

"We don't intend to be here that long." Sisko tapped his communicator again and began issuing orders. "Send O'Brien and a few of his people down to see if they can get a signal through the jamming," he finished.

Vance watched as the man took charge of his people, and backed away. Sisko was scared, but did not dare show it. Vance could still not believe that the news was real, but the field was gone already, Sisko's people materializing in small bunches, clutching their meager belongings.

Stumbling back to his office, Vance remembered a speech he'd made once to an aide group. He'd told them how his method could make the difference between life and death to the refugee populations clustered in unspoken places where paradise did not live. He only hoped that he would not have to see his words proven so close to home.

o0o

The future field was becoming crowded with people and crates and furniture. Sisko had ordered the largest bay, which had held the bulk of his people, to be emptied of everything so there would be more room for supplies. The other smaller bays would be large enough for the passengers, and despite what he'd said to Vance he wanted as many supplies on hand as possible. Vance had been persuaded to use his large industrial replicator for tents. The first of them had gone up already and the supplies were being sorted. The Antelope was already gone.

o0o

The colony's ageing comm unit had been modified without much trouble. As the impromptu camp materialized on the field, Sisko had a shift, but had no luck. Then, finally after several hours of nothing, a noisy connection to Starfleet had been made and Vance had been sent for.

"We will need more than the freighter," said Sisko, using the same clipped and insistent tone he'd used with Vance earlier. The fuzzy image on the screen nodded a bit but the reply was inaudible. "I have too many people to take the chance on something so slow. And we can't stay here for long."

A blur of static eradicated most of the reply, but Vance could make out a cryptic "you'll get instructions and we'll coordinate things," satisfying neither an angry Sisko nor a stunned Vance. Vance had finally allowed the news to sink in, and he shared Sisko's unease over the situation.

Sisko pointed at Vance. "This man is in charge of this little colony. Perhaps you'll believe him if he tells you how it is."

Walter Vance had spoken to many important people. But he realized that this was the most important appeal he'd ever made. Sisko had tried to be a little more diplomatic than Walter expected, but then the Captain was used to Starfleet. But Walter wasn't and he understood that Sisko was hoping he'd say what they didn't want to hear.

"Sir, I don't know you but I know this place. We have perhaps forty people here, and we have neither the water, or the food, or the shelter to house all of your*evacuees* for more than a little while. I don't know *why* Captain Sisko chose to come here, but he did and now I *demand* that you take care of the problem. I don't want to see anyone suffer, not his people, nor mine. But you claim you'll coordinate this evacuation and I expect these people to be gone very soon."

Sisko looked as grim as before, but he nodded. The static crackled and Vance could just make out the calm voice on the other end. "Director Vance, I wish I could send immediate aid, but we have other problems. My answer stands. Starfleet out."

The screen turned to black, and the background hiss resumed. Sisko slumped a little in the chair while Vance kept staring at the screen.

"I hope you don't mind extended company," said Sisko with a trace of resignation. "The Dominion fleet was heading their way. We tried."

Vance was more worried than before. Sisko had finally let down his guard and Walter could see the desperation. "They will send someone," ventured Vance.

"Someone," muttered Sisko, exhaustion written in his face, as he slowly stood.

"I'll stay," offered Vance, just to avoid the mess outside.

Sisko nodded silently, slowly walking towards the door.

"When," he said, pausing, "When we go you should go, too. Starfleet will insist. You should know that."

Then, the tired Captain left and Vance was alone with the hissing unit to keep him company. The day's events closed in on him, the grim silence of the hiss the most hideous sound he'd ever heard. He didn't want to leave Cyrus. He didn't want his dream interrupted again. But then, somehow that didn't really matter so much now.

Once he'd seen a picture of Willman before the Cardassians had changed him. He kept thinking of it now, of the innocence destroyed, and wondered how many Willmans would be left at the end.

o0o

Sisko had retreated to the eery silence of the hiss a few hours later, still exhausted but feeling useless. There was a tap on the door. "Come in."

It was one of the locals, an older man with unruly graying hair, that Sisko had not noticed in the onlookers that had gathered outside. "I'm Dr. Willman. I understand your CMO isn't here yet. I just wondered if you needed anything."

Sisko studied the man. Vance had worn the look of someone about to drown, but Willman wasn't so naive. He was still in shock, but already thinking. There was an immense sadness in his eyes. In its own way, it was harder than Vance's confusion to take. But Sisko did appreciate the consideration. "Not at the moment, though something for a headache wouldn't be a bad idea."

"I'll send something over." He hesitated, and Sisko looked up expectantly. "Captain, would you have anyone who could look at a replicator? The medical replicator is way off spec. We haven't had any success at fixing it and with communications down I haven't been able to get a new one. Given the current circumstances, it's rather important."

"Yes, I'll get O'Brien to look at it." Sisko watched as the doctor nodded, keeping his composure. He was already making plans, thought Sisko. "He needs to get a few things done first. He and his crew have been working on this all day", Sisko added, pointing at the comm unit.

"Any luck yet?"

Vance hadn't said anything. Sisko wondered if the two got along. "We made communication. If it worked they know where we are. Now we wait for another reply."

Sisko wondered if Willman had practiced his speech. It was spoken so carefully, with just a hint of urgency. He wasn't trying to make matters worse, but Sisko suspected that he expected them to get that way. "Just in case, when your people get here, I hope they are bringing medical supplies."

Sisko studied the man, already having decided he liked him. "Dr. Bashir was ordered to. He would in any case. He's a very conscientious doctor."

"I look forward to meeting him."

Sisko remembered Bashir after he returned from the Dominion prison camp. He'd changed. He was quiet and careful. The trace of youth that played against the brilliance was gone. Willman was like that too. Perhaps the two would find some common bond to make it easier.

But Bashir and the rest were still on the station. Sisko had no way of telling if they were alive or free. He just wanted them here, no matter how crowded it was. "I'll just be glad when they get here," sighed Sisko.

Willman was watching too closely, and Sisko wished he'd go. But then Willman nodded. "Yes. First things first."

Sisko knew that whatever happened, Willman was going to matter.

o0o

It had taken all day to assemble the tents, but sometime past dusk the last one had gone up. They had spread them out over the two levels, grouping three or four in a section, with room for pathways in between. The families with children had gotten the first groups set up, and they had grown quiet very early, despite the noise. The children, once put to bed, had fallen asleep immediately and their parents had given in to the exhaustion of the trip soon after.

The same was true of each new shelter; despite the roughness of the setting they didn't notice that night. It had really been too crowded on the trip to get much sleep, and few people had slept much the last days on the station. That night, as the frantic need to hurry had abruptly ended, they had collapsed into deep dreamless sleep.

Sisko was the last to retire, his quarters a small tent and the narrow, lumpy cot. They had used the stored cots that had been used before the buildings on Cyrus were completed, and the mattresses had not aged well. The breeze slipped inside the small door, and the noises were all unfamiliar. But none of that kept him awake. The Antelope should be back at the station in a day. His people would be here soon after. Where they would go was anyone's guess, but he suspected that the current crowding would become a good memory then.

And after that? Only he and Vance had seen the fuzzy face on the screen, and heard the half-answers. Vance had kept it to himself as had Sisko. But others would guess. When nobody had answers and communications remained blocked they would all know.

There were a lot of ships. Starfleet was strong, but how strong? The image of the best of the fleet blasted to space junk at Wolf359 filled his mind. What about the crews on those ships? How many of them died or were assimilated and later written off as a cost of victory? In the silence of the night, it was all to easy to remember Jennifer lying dead that day.

But it had been a long day, a long week and nothing-not the mattress nor the fears nor the memories-could keep him awake.

o0o

Lonnie perched on the counter, watching the starfleeter named O'Brien and his assistant reduce the medical replicator to a heap of components. It did not give her any confidence. The muttered comments about burned parts did not help. Willman had left earlier, leaving her to watch.

Finally, a red head popped up behind the half-disassembled unit and O'Brien stepped forward, with a small hand-ful of pieces. They appeared darkened and somewhat twisted. His assistant held a small container out and the Chief dropped them inside.

He held the container out for her to see. "Just how long have you been using this unit since it malfunctioned?" he asked Lonnie.

"Almost a week," she said cautiously.

"And it's been getting more and more off spec each time you tried?" continued O'Brien patiently.

"Well, yes."

"And when did it get so far off spec that it was officially broken?"

"Uh, about three days ago."

"And since then?" he continued, sounding exasperated.

"I don't know. They were trying to fix it."

"Well, I could have it up and running if you'd have left it alone. As it is, you've got a major overhaul on your hands here. Every time you ran it you sent a charge through this," he said, holding up a somewhat darkened square, "and it controls the specs for replication. Or it used to."

"You wouldn't happen to have another one?" said Lonnie, sheepishly.

"We could replicate all the other parts, but your equipment wouldn't have this. We could get it from the station, but we couldn't get a signal through and the replicators are down anyway. I'm afraid you're out of luck."

Lonnie stared at the mess they'd made of the replicator. She knew there were a lot of people sleeping in tents on the grounds. She had heard the same stories about invasions and war as everybody else. She wanted them to all go home and things to go back to the way they'd been. The replicator made a lie of her wishes. The two men loaded it into a crate without any special care. They dropped the box of parts and other refuse in the side.

"Maybe your rescue ship will have one," she suggested, wishing very hard that it be true.

She could only call the look he gave her one of pity. "Yeah, maybe," he said.

She watched as they carried out the box, staring at the place where it had been. It was their lifeline. Now it was gone. James had joked about the hearty pioneers. What if they really had to live like that?

Somehow, it would be fixed. Somehow, it would work out. She only hoped that everybody stayed real healthy before that.

o0o

Justin Blanchard watched the monitor as it verified that the terraforming unit was being emptied of its chemical soup. He heard Vance taping keys behind him. "They couldn't possibly have had worse timing. It took two days to mix and if we don't use it soon enough it's going to degrade too much. How long do we have to put up with them?"

Vance sighed. He knew Justin didn't mean to, but it just made the fear worse. And there was no answer. "I have no idea. I couldn't turn him down, Justin. You didn't see his face."

"But why there, on our field? With this invasion we might get cut off. It might be badly needed."

"There wasn't anywhere else to put them. And we just have to wait until the Federation comes and gets them." Justin was an old friend but hadn't been there when Starfleet had evaded every question. Justin had no idea how much Walter didn't want to think of an answer to his question.

"And you're going to trust the Federation to care about us? Come on, Walter. I'm not some sponsor you're trying to impress. I'm your old friend. It won't matter to them if our project fails. You know that." Blanchard looked on in disbelief at his old friend.

Walter wished he could explain. But he and Sisko had made a silent pact. Justin wouldn't understand anyway. "I really don't think we matter much to them right now. I think the Dominion fleet is of more concern. Doesn't that even worry you, Justin?" Vance was getting tired of being diplomatic. At least with Justin, he didn't have to lie.

"They all worry me. I'm going to have to re-sample the rock when they leave. Who knows what chemicals will be left? We might not be able to make the right mix. Doesn't this project mean anything to you anymore?"

Walter was tired. He hadn't slept well for too long. He kept looking towards the sky, the place that had been their symbol of separation from the rest, and now might have their doom waiting above the clouds. He didn't feel like pandering to Justin and his blindness. "Yes, Justin, it does. But we have the enemy jamming our communications, and 300 refugees dropped on us at the moment. The project will be still be there when all that is settled. Of course I care. But I'm not sure this is the right time to be doing this."

Deeply hurt, Blanchard stared at him. "I don't believe I'm hearing this. Just what do we do with the chemicals if we're putting this on hold?"

That was at least a reasonable question. There was some of it already mixed. If they had extended guests more useful land would be necessary. There was the other side of the cultivated field, and the whole process would give the bored visitors something to watch.

Vance hoped they might understand what they had cost Cryus. But it would give Justin something to do to. Right now, that mattered more.

"Hmmm. We have the other side of the small field. There should be plenty for that. It's a lot better than having it degrade." Vance was perfectly calm. He knew Justin would run with the idea.

He could see the excitement. "We could do that. It's still ... wrong, but it's better than nothing. I suppose we should start refilling this unit."

"I'll be back later. Sisko wants to talk about something." Vance was almost glad for the excuse to leave and let Blanchard calm down. The only part he disliked was the excuse being Sisko. The man had a great burden to carry, but Walter was content to leave it to him.

o0o

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Miles had nothing to do. Ever since they had landed on this lonely hunk of rock, he had had a job. The urgency of the moment was his refuge, and he could escape into his work. But there was nothing to fix today. The raindrops spattered on the tent in fits and spurts, and Miles stared at the dark, wet sky and couldn't sleep.

It had taken an eternity to get used to the beds on the station, but he doubted he would ever get used to this narrow cot. The first night he had been too exhausted to care, and neither the oddness of the place nor the little cot mattered. But the exhaustion was wearing off now. The feeling of misery that had hit some earlier with too much time to think had ambushed him and he listened to the rain and tried not to toss and turn.

It was the place. He'd lived inside in a regulated station for too long. The tents were drafty and while the material didn't drip, they soaked up the water left in the rocky soil after the nearly daily rains. The mud was everywhere. His blanket kept falling off and was always damp from the wet floors. He almost fell off each time he tried to turn over.

But that was all an excuse. He thought to himself that Keiko liked rain. He kept wondering if she'd like this. When he did sleep, his arm would reach out for someone who wasn't there. There was a small window in the tent, and between storms he could see the stars at night. She'd loved that part of living on Bajor.

Was that helping her now? Was she in a place where there were stars, or a cage? Were she and the children alive? He kept listening for the children's noises at night and couldn't hear them, and would wake after a dream to the devastating reality that they were gone.

Sisko said they'd try. But Miles was a realist. His and the few other families trapped on Bajor might well be lost forever. The sounds of other's children brought back vivid memories. He'd argued with Keiko too much. They'd never really talked. But something had kept them together and that was lost now. He wanted her to be alive, but late in the night when all there was was rain, he hoped that she'd die easily if all life became as horrible as it had for the Bajorans the last time an invader had taken their home.

They'd been apart before. He missed her and Molly then, too. But he always knew she'd come back. Now, no matter how much he tried, he couldn't make himself believe.

He tried to feel something. He couldn't be angry at the enemy because then she was gone. He couldn't grieve, or cry. He was simply lost in a sea of nothingness where there had been no good byes, and no end. When there was work to do he could stand it, but after all that was done he tried to push away the nightmare and it stalked him. He wanted to grieve. But then he'd have to say good bye. He surrounded himself with nothingness to keep away the storm.

Once, a long time ago, Kira had said you lost the moment you gave up. He tried to remember that, lying on a lumpy cot with a wet blanket and memories all he had to hold. Kira would go back to that life. He knew she would never leave her home.

She would hold on. He must try.

Noise woke him from a game with Molly and the wet tent surrounded him like a shroud. Light was streaming in the window, and he realized he'd slept a little. But it was morning, time to rise and work. Except that on this technologically backwards rock there was nothing to do-today. He could fix the borderline things, and tomorrow he might be busy.

Most of these people wanted rescue today-now. But Miles knew that the space between home and here was full of Jem'Hadar, and rescue was their dream. At least they had one. It didn't matter much to him when the ship came, or even if. All that mattered was too far away. Leaving here would just make it further.

The sun shone through the window, lighting the pebbles on the floor. He sat up blurry-eyed and discovered his roommates were already gone. He borrowed a dry blanket and wrapped it about himself and collapsed again, and lost himself in dreams of family.

o0o

The little valley was a study in contrasts. On one side, lush farmland had been created, already supporting its first full spring crop. The young plants covered the deep rich brown soil with a lacy cover of young leaves. A faint odor of wet dirt and fertilizer perfumed the air.

The opposite side of the valley was quite different. Flattened in patches, the dry, chalky soil of the planet was being covered by the table-like machines that would make it as rich and soft as that in the green half of the valley. The work had started at dawn, the leveled areas soaked with the chemical soup mixed before the dream had become a refugee camp. In time, it would make the crumbling chalk useful, and the great silence that came from space gave it all a greater urgency. And as Vance had hoped, the visitors came to watch.

The crowd had gathered slowly, drifting out of their tents, and had pushed closer, at first, as the chemicals bubbled their way into the soil. But then, the smell had hit, and all but the most hearty of them had fled. But while most retreated from the odor, one man eagerly made his way closer.

Justin Blanchard studied the small field with a great sense of pride when the man approached and hesitantly introduced himself.

"I'm Tarlan Jaro," he said, waiting until Blanchard nodded. "I've heard of you, even if I doubt you've heard of me.

Blanchard studied the middle-aged Bajoran, noting the look of excitement in his eyes. "I believe our ideas were submitted to Bajor, though nothing came of it."

The Bajoran sighed. He shrugged. "I was a government official then, though not terribly important. My duty was to increase food production. I liked your ideas very much and I did push them as much as I could. But, alas, those who wanted the Federation's goodwill feared that your method wasn't approved, and too many thought it wasn't Bajoran enough."

"I didn't deal with that," replied Justin, intrigued with the enthusiasm he saw. "Walter did the meetings. Would you like to hear more about it, Mr. Jaro?"

"Tarlan, not Jaro. Bajoran names are backwards to yours." The Bajoran stepped closer, pointing at one of the machines sliding across a sheath of chemically-soaked dirt. "But others often make that mistake." He watched intently as others were slipped into place and the entire end of the field was swallowed by machines. Justin noted he could not take his eyes off the work.

"We mock the work of volcanos with our machines," explained Justin. "They bake the treated soil with heat and pressure until it becomes rock. But next year the rock will have altered to this," he said, reaching down and grabbing a handful of the treated soil.

Tarlan took it, running his fingers through the dirt. "I do hope you'll let me watch as it changes."

Justin was excited by his new friends general enthusiasm, but wondered if the Bajoran was asking to join the previous residents of Cyrus. Surely, he and the others would be gone long before the field was ready. He knew about the hissing comm unit, and yet somehow it did not enter into his world quite yet. He would miss the Bajoran, though. Somehow, Justin knew he'd found a kindred soul.

So few shared his devotion to the project. Even Walter had given up on following the small details that made Justin's day exciting. All he wanted to know was about the results and when they could be showcased. Walter wanted fame. But Justin would have been just as happy to simply prove it worked. He neither shared nor understood Walter's childish need to be praised.

"You'd have to stay awhile. It doesn't happen overnight. But," he said, thinking of the first complex tests that had never worked how they were supposed to, "But it is very fast in comparison with the first attempts."

"Which were much more complex than this, I would guess. Or at least what I remember of it was."

Justin took a deep breath. "We realized that our best chance was on smaller, unaligned worlds, and for them it required simplicity. Ah, I remember the first test we did with the new approach . . . . "

His visitor listened closely as he told of the first failures followed by growing success, and how Walter met with anyone who might help or had any need for the process.

Tarlan shook his head, sadly, when politics came up. "On my home, this process could have done wonders."

Justin tried to remember everything he knew about Bajor. The Cardassians had abandoned it after taking everything of worth. "When all this is over, I'll personally supervise whatever application you choose," he offered.

The Bajoran just stared at the fields. "That's going to be a long time. I left my wife and children there. I don't know if I'll ever see them again."

Justin was shocked. He was inspired by the interest in the project, but this sense of doom didn't fit. "This invasion, it will work out. It always does. Look at the Klingons. We became allies. It will resolve itself. I can wait."

His guest looked at him sadly, and for a moment he was reminded of the way Walter looked after he'd complained again about the field the refugees were ruining. "You haven't heard the rumors, then?"

Justin smiled, not terribly interested in them. "There are always rumors." He changed the subject before Tarlan could reply. "And when I had to do this small field instead of the larger one we meant to do, I altered the mix a bit. It's an experiment. It should be a lot richer soil than the other. It should yield a much better crop, first time out. Just in case we're on our own for a while, you see."

"That could be useful," the Bajoran agreed. "But what about the Dominion? You could be sitting in the middle of another Demilitarized Zone."

The first hint of real worry touched Justin Blanchard. He had friends who lived in what had become Maquis territory. He hadn't seen them for a long time and missed them. He didn't care about politics and stayed away from the whole Maquis mess, but he knew his friends were very likely dead. For the first time, the refugees and the reason for their presence on his field hit him. But he had much on his mind and no time for the distress it could cause. "Let's hope things go better than that," he said. But despite the next few hours and the Bajoran's eager ear, he could no longer pretend that they were alone.

o0o

For most of the old residents of Cyrus, their visitors were still only a major inconvenience. But three hundred refugees had done more than disrupt their well-ordered plans. Sisko's people had brought most of their own immediate needs along, but with so little baggage and supplies, it was obvious that it wouldn't last. Then, their refugees would be far more than inconvenient.

The colony simply didn't have the means to feed that many people. The replicator might make up the difference for a time, but even that would not last forever. With only one small cultivated field, it would have to. And the chalky soil of Cyrus would grow little more than the scrubby grasses and mossy seasonal plants that characterized the native life. Everyone knew about the persistent jamming and the lack of answers. But the Federation had promised to take them away, and for once, most of the staff wanted to belief that the Federation would keep its promise.

But even the most optimistic of them knew it wasn't going to be all that soon. And there were more coming, with even Sisko's own people worried about where to put them. But it was easier to worry about how tightly-jammed the visitors might be than to admit to the real fears.

For the new people had done more than take over the field. They had shattered the shield of illusion that Cyrus was safe from the universe that its residents had fled. Sisko and his people had pulled Cyrus into a dangerous world where mysterious enemies could invade and trap Cyrus in the middle of chaos and war. And while they hoped that when the Starfleet people were gone life would go back to what it had been, deep inside they knew the illusion was gone forever.

But James did not belong, and for him life was suddenly filled with purpose. He didn't linger in his bed anymore. He knew, each day, that there would be something worthwhile to do.

Unlike most of the rest, he found any way he could to spend time with the newcomers. In a small way, he identified with them, but mostly he just liked them better than the idyllic dreamers he'd know most of his sentence on this rock. They lived interesting lives. James didn't really want to share them, but the artist in him was captivated by the sudden drama that had revised all their future hopes.

He walked through the camp, watching faces. None of these people had allowed reality to sink in. They had been driven from home to a tent on a nearly deserted rock, and all they were doing was existing. Parents watched children, safeguarding the few toys they had, while never letting them out of sight. Couples clung to each other, hardly talking but then, words weren't really needed. And James couldn't bear to watch those few who'd left family behind on Bajor, for as much as they tried to hope he could tell how hopeless they knew it was. He tried to imagine what it would be like to never see family again.

He had spent the day helping out at the camp, and returning to his own room, was surprised by how large and firm and dry it was. He was almost tempted to spend a night out in the rain just to see what it was like, but it might ruin his sketches.

For James wanted to remember this place. When he went home and started art school, he wanted to draw on the experience and was afraid that the memories would get too muddled. So he sat up and drew pictures, mostly quick sketches, but here and there pictures in detail. There was one woman with her baby, born the day they arrived. He had looked into her eyes and seen the fear for the child, and he took special care to get her picture right.

But James knew, no matter that it might take a little longer, that he would not be like them. They would leave Cyrus, but not really to home anymore. He was lucky. He was going on to a dream. He believed it would be because he had to, because life wouldn't matter anymore if the invasion changed that, too.

He'd made himself very useful. He could talk to Vance when problems arose. He'd set up the replicator for tents long before Vance gave his permission. Then he'd gone to the Director himself, asking as if he expected permission to be granted.

He didn't like Cyrus, but he knew how to get things done. In his last days he'd finally found a use for himself as a go-between.

Today's problem was water. A system of pipes brought clean river water to the settlement, but when taxed to its limits by the refugees it wasn't enough. Sisko's people had already set up plans for the new piping system which would bring in much more water, and had even started putting it together.

But Vance just stared at the paper. "It's a good system, but . . . . " he said.

One of Sisko's people waited impatiently, his muddy uniform sleeves rolled up and his look one of annoyance. "And we need it," he insisted.

James understood Vance's hesitation. Nobody wanted them to stay for too long, but if they were designing water systems to accommodate themselves the hope of prompt rescue was held up as a lie. And Vance was even less willing to acknowledge the reality.

Vance sat dry and clean in his sturdy office thinking about it, and James could tell how deeply terrified he was of the idea. If the pipes were built, it was an open admission that neither the visitors nor his own people might get their wish. And he knew Vance had to believe that the intruders would go.

James had a sudden inspiration. "And we need it, too, Sir. After all, when we do make the field there will have to be water for the crops. This way the supply will already be there," he suggested.

Vance looked up at him, a bit perplexed. James thought to himself that he probably hadn't used "we" much before that. But the director shook his head, too.

"Good point," he finally said. "Build it. We even have extra pipes."

Then the Starfleet engineer left and Vance just collapsed. He looked up at James. "We don't even get fuzz on the comm unit anymore. Just nothing. Sisko won't say but he's afraid his other people are dead. Maybe we should hope so. I didn't come here to watch people go hungry." He stared at the desk. "I'm sorry James. About Calder."

James shivered for a second, a creeping cold going up his spine. But he could not accept anything except his dream coming true. And even if he started a little late, what he was doing now was different than before. All of a sudden he was important. He mattered. Most of the time before he was just Vance's young guest, who was tolerated and occasionally indulged.

Deep inside, James knew it had to end. He was too afraid to think of any other way besides his leaving. But each morning, as he prepared for the day's work after waking, he studied his drawings.

The people at Calder would see what kind of an artist he could be, and how far he'd come, when they studied the drawings. For there was a life there, an intensity and empathy he didn't remember before. Nothing on Cyrus or Earth could have shown him how much that mattered and in an odd way, James wasn't in quite the rush to go anymore.

o0o

Sisko stared at the communications panel, feeling utterly useless, and listened to the silence. He reset the unit for another round of messages, already knowing it was utterly futile. The Dominion controlled the area and no amount of power boost was going to make the unit work.

He watched as it sent its simple message to anyone who might hear, and scanned for any communications in progress as well.

It found nothing. Normally, this area of space should have been thick with conversation, but now it was silent. He wondered how many other little places like this one were waiting for some help or some message to tell them what had happened.

How many of them already knew, as the people on Cyrus did, that it was probably over already? Did they find believing it as hard? Did they want to retreat to the comfortable illusion as well?

Or had the Dominion already sent its cloned soldiers to prove it a lie? Would that be easier than sitting and waiting to know for sure that nobody was coming, and that the future was hard and hungry? Had he led his people into a trap worse than the one they might have found if they'd insisted on going ahead to the rendezvous?

Dax had come in earlier to keep him company. She'd switched to civilian clothes, but even they were dabbled with mud. It had rained that morning and the upper deck was awash in sheets of mud sliding off the hill behind the upper level.

"I can't help but wonder if we aren't any better off here than on the station," said Sisko.

Dax was dabbing at the mud on her shoes. "The jamming?" she asked.

"When we first got here I was able to get through to Starfleet. It wasn't a good signal, but it wasn't being blocked. Now," he wondered out loud, "the jamming is as total as at the station. If Barrett's information was correct, we're already in occupied territory."

"Starfleet knows where we are, at least," said Dax.

"They know our situation," said Sisko, exasperated. "Or at least they knew a week ago. And all they said was that supplies would be sent."

"Somehow, I don't think Vance really wants us as permanent residents."

"That's what he told Starfleet," said Sisko, with a hint of a smile. "He said what I couldn't. I was trying to be diplomatic."

"You must have been in shock," said Dax, almost smiling herself.

The moment of levity passed. Dax asked the question both of them had been avoiding.

"Anything on the Antelope?"

The Antelope should have returned. Any number of things could have happened. The station could have been taken. The ship could have been destroyed. Perhaps they would never arrive. Perhaps they would be delayed.

"Nothing, not even a garbled message."

"They still could be alive, Benjamin"

"Or being held prisoner. We should have left some of the supplies and taken the rest. It was just too risky."

"Then we wouldn't have much to eat," she reminded him.

He knew. The food they had was being carefully rationed. In addition to the mud and the tents and the uncertainty, that added to the depression.

"I know, Old Man, but I can't help but think there must have been a way," said Sisko, shaking his head.

"They may have had to avoid the Jem'Hadar or taken a different route. It's not time for the memorial just yet," said Dax. Sisko tried to believe it. But people disappeared in wars, he thought.

Dax gave another half-smile, but this one was wistful. He wondered if she believed it either. Dax retreated to silence and Sisko stared at the unit, hoping and dreading the moment its silence was broken.

End, Legacy, Year 1, Part 2, Chapter 3


	5. Part 2Transience Chapter 4

LEGACY

An Alternative History of the Dominion War

Year 1

Part 2 - Transience

Chapter 4

Sisko watched as his two officers carefully seated themselves in the damp seats of what served as his office. A pounding rain the night before had forced a move of the upper parts of camp to the lower level, crowding everyone more but leaving the upper level to the overflowing mud. It was everywhere, spattered on everyone's clothes and nearly mixing in their fresh water. A filter system was being devised, the assumption being that it eventually would be needed. But it took time and would limit their supply of safe water. The soil on the lower area was much coarser and when wet it stuck to feet, but pebbles were much easier to manage than slippery mud.

Dax still wore the same distant look that had appeared after Worf had gone with the Rotarran. She was fingering the ring Worf had given her. Her civilian clothes had dabs of mud all over them.

Miles was just quiet. Sisko knew the uncertainty of his family's fate was an overwhelming burden. "I guess we should get started," said Sisko. Miles and Dax looked up, a trace of worry in their eyes. Perhaps Miles was hoping for an answer and Jadzia for a message. But there was nothing new to say. What mattered was their immediate needs.

He spoke as if he were sitting in his imposing office on the station. "We need to begin using the rations we brought with us, and it must be handled very strictly. I'm putting you two in charge of the disbursing of rations and the security of our food supply."

He watched Dax closely. Her expression shifted from the distracted look she had adopted to one of concentration. She even looked at him. "How soon will we be giving them out?" she asked. "The supplies people brought should be gone soon."

"Tomorrow, for some at least. We need a way to prevent hoarding. I'll leave the details to you. It should be ready for large scale distribution in at most three days."

Miles was looking at his hands, as if counting something on his fingers. He asked, warily, "How long do these supplies have to last?"

"As long as possible. I want to go on short allotments unless there is a need for more, so keep that in mind. We need some way to make it less obvious that some get more than others."

"That's not going to be popular," said Dax quietly.

"This isn't a popularity contest."

"We will need security," she added.

"You have it. You'll have your own. If you need anything else, just ask. This is the most important priority we have at the moment."

He looked at the Trill. She was focused again. She was almost the same Jadzia he'd known on the station. "We'll need a survey of what we have now . . . " she was saying as she hurried out of the tent.

Miles stayed behind. He looked at the floor, then up. "Any word, Sir?", he asked, stumbling over the words.

Sisko hated to have to answer. Miles knew there wasn't much hope, but the Captain didn't want to make it so obvious. The others with family left on Bajor were not officers and kept their grief to themselves, but he had to see Miles' face every day. "Nothing. We haven't even had any notable noise on the comm unit."

Miles seemed lost in thought for a second. "I can't boost the power anymore," he said offhandedly. Then, he closed his eyes, and looked away. "I suppose by now, Bajor has surrendered. If they didn't get them off, then they're . . . . " he stopped.

For all we know, we're their prisoners, too, thought Sisko. But he kept it to himself. "I'll let you know as soon as there is something to tell you."

"Thank you, Sir," said Miles very softly.

"I'm . . . sorry, Chief. For you and all the others."

Miles nodded and went to do his job.

At least he had a job. Sisko looked at the rumpled office, and the mud, and wondered what to do next. The rations would be handled for now, but what of later? Somehow he knew this was the easy part and pushed back a dread that had no name.

o0o

Deep in a cavern on Bajor, lost in the mazes of tunnels whose minerals deflected scans, Keiko O'Brien and her children snuggled together on the makeshift bed. The cave wasn't really cold, but somehow, the blankets were a little wall of safety in a terrifying world. They had arrived that morning after an exhausting five-day hike, and for the first time in days could really sleep. On the trail every sound could be the Jem'Hadar. The children had been too tired and slept, but Keiko had only rested.

It wasn't safety-there would never be a safe place again for her-but it was as close as existed in this hard, new world. Molly kept close, afraid to leave her side, and she watched as they slept in the soft glow of the fire. Yoshi, nestled in a pile of blankets, was restless but quiet. She was afraid he'd wake and cry and give them away. On the trail, he'd fussed until one of her helpers gave him a berry to suck on. It was large and sweet, the skin hard, and Keiko had decided not to ask what else it did besides occupying him.

She didn't like her child drugged, but it was better than his cry betraying their hiding place or secret trail. Perhaps Yoshi was sleeping it off, but she hoped he had a measure of safety. He was too little to know that his world had been ripped away.

Molly hadn't needed the berry. She was too scared of the mountains and the strangers that came and went. She was old enough to know.

Keiko wrapped herself in a light blanket to shield herself from the draft and curled around the children. But only after she'd listened to the snapping of the fire and the soft breathing of her children did she fall into an exhausted sleep.

o0o

Around a bend, in a washed bucket normally used for carrying water, the golden goo that made up Odo moved in small, rhythmic waves. He had waited almost too long before shifting this time. The rest he had to have was calming his body, but his mind was on the woman in the next turn of the cave. There had been no news, so far into the hills, but Bajor was almost certainly captive again. She'd grown up in that world. So had he, in his own way. Keiko and the others would learn, but Kira knew the value of freedom, and now it had gone. Perhaps tomorrow night she would let his bucket lie near her. Perhaps someday she would be able to put to words the devastation of this time and understand that it was as terrible for him.

o0o

Kira sat by a small fire, its glow throwing a soft flickering light along the walls. She remembered the kinds of food they'd eaten before the Cardassians were banished. As hungry as she was, the food wasn't appetizing. Each bite brought back memories of desperate meals eaten before a raid, or the murky light of hidden spaces where danger was only a betrayal or a noise away. But these caverns had saved lives. Nobody could scan them, and after the Cardassians had been done with their mining operation, the abandoned caverns had become a haven of safety. The enemy had never managed to get inside. But the new enemy with their weapons and utter lack of respect for solids might make this place a trap.

Keiko and the children could not be hidden here. These caverns would have to be a stopping place, but this time the resistance would be different.

And so would the army. She remembered the station after the Cardassians had left it, ruined and broken, and how the Federation had given it new life. Before the Dominion, she had tasted real freedom. It had always been a dream before. The others took for granted what she had learned to cherish.

She'd carried Yoshi inside her. She never wanted children in the harsh world of Bajor under the Cardassians. Children were too fragile and died too easily. But Yoshi was hers too. She grieved for him and his sister, and for all the others who might have to grow in the same world she had.

As the fire flickered she watched the shapes on the wall. Odo rested not far away, and some of the flickered images made her think of him. What would his own people do if they found him? To the Cardassians he had been a curiosity, but to this enemy he would be a traitor.

She looked towards the wall that shielded his bucket from view. She would miss him, but Odo would have a hard life in this new world. He had always been alone, until the liberation came and he had gained a life of his own. Now, that would be gone. His only safety was to be apart from those who might be watched, less he be taken.

She nearly went to him, but stopped herself. The world that had come to be held many hard lessons. Keiko would learn. The children would as well. It would change and mutilate them in ways she knew too well. But she must keep away from Odo. Even here, there could be ears that nobody noticed.

She stared at the fire, wondering if this time any redemption was possible. Tomorrow would be soon enough to tell the others that her contact had passed on a message. Yesterday, Bajor and its people had agreed to an unconditional surrender to the enemy and fallen back into nightmare.

o0o

Miles watched as the line crawled forward, each person exchanging their ration sticker for their dinner. Everyone looked tired. They weren't getting a full ration, but Federation rations were designed to be more nutritious than they had to be. Willman had advised that mothers with nursing babies or pregnant women not be shorted. Children received an adult ration. But most got just a little less than was satisfying.

He and Dax had devised a simple system of stickers. Each person got a week's supply, for which they were responsible. If any were stolen the thief was considered to have stolen food, and one of the storage rooms was set up as a place to store thieves. They weren't sure what to do with them once they got off Cyrus, but with an insufficient supply of food Sisko planned to come down hard on them.

The colony did have several replicators, and could make more rations-or other kinds of food but there was another worry. Cyrus was supposed to be a sparsely-populated planet and it would be odd if there was a high-energy signature from the replicator. It would draw them unwanted attention. If it came to it they'd use it, but for now with no sign that the Dominion had noticed them, it was best to be cautious.

But Miles had been passing out rations for three days, and he realized all the faces looked the same. They were hungry, and scared, and the daunting reality of their situation had begun to sink in. They waited in line quietly and took their food, then vanished. People liked to eat in private. Perhaps they traded what they had or ate some of the children's food.

In the two weeks since they had left the station, their people had begun to feel like the abandoned-like the refugees that they were. Living in tents and constantly fighting damp and mud, life had taken on a surreal quality and survival had become the rule already.

But for Miles, the daily routine was his life. His wife and children were trapped far away, and he couldn't allow himself to think of them. The rations were under guard, and he was personally responsible for their protection. He couldn't help his family, but the job-and its great importance–gave him value. But most of all he could help *someone*.

Jadzia worked with the helpers, recruited from volunteers personally screened by both Miles and Jadzia. It had to be tempting to be so near the food, and to have access to a few more bars for the family. Any who tried to break in would be dealt with, but they had to trust those who guarded.

Just the same, Miles supervised the day's count and locked the door. If they came up short somebody had taken a few too many and it would not be ignored.

Having a little control made him feel a little less lost, too, so he could stand the rest. But no matter how much, it was still harder. He knew how much food they had. He did not like depending on the replicator. Willman knew about war, too, and had advocated making as much of a supply as possible, now, before anything new happened, but had been overruled. Now, as he watched the stock of rations diminish too fast, Miles agreed with him.

They were done for the day. The count had come out even and Miles watched as his assistant signed the padd. It was the part of the day Miles hated, when the busy time ended and there was too much left for things he didn't want to think about.

He grumbled at the young man, one of his engineers on the station, "I wonder when we start filling up those bins before we don't have the chance."

Carl Jackson was scared, his wife having the distinction of the first birth on Cyrus the day they'd come. But he didn't know as much as Miles. "We'll get the next shipment soon. Then we'll go home."

Miles didn't remember when he'd been that innocent. But he hoped Carl was right. Even if he had to tell Keiko's family that their daughter was a Dominion prisoner he didn't want anyone else to have to live through the nightmare that was his.

o0o

At first, the lateness of the Antelope's return was warily dismissed as expected. It was old and slow and probably had to take a longer route. Then, especially for those with family aboard, it wasn't mentioned. They simply couldn't voice the fear. Perhaps, put in words, all their fears might come true.

But as the time stretched into more than a week of no word and absolute silence from space, the hope started to fade. So many things could have gone wrong. The ship could have never gotten back to the station at all. The Dominion could have already taken those left behind. There could have been innumerable things that happened along the way, accidents or encounters with enemy ships. After so much time had gone by, many did not expect to ever know.

But fourteen days after the first transport had left, it came to ground.

The first message had been sudden and unexpected, but much too ominous for any relief. The Antelope was emptied of as much equipment and supplies as time allowed by its cargo transporters, everything beamed to an open area outside the main camp. Sisko posted a guard as otherwise the food and other things might disappear before any of it could be surveyed.

A transmission was sent then, a package of messages from those on the Antelope. It was recorded and saved in the hopes that it would not be their last words.

But everyone's eyes were to the sky, even the original staff of Cyrus. The Antelope had warned that there was no landing gear and the normal transporter was not functional. The unwieldy ship would try to slide into the atmosphere and land on the sand dune near the settlement. It wasn't impossible and with a little luck they'd make it. But the Antelope would never leave Cyrus, and unless the Federation provided other transportation the planet would be severely over-populated.

Willman had his medical team waiting, everyone hoping it wouldn't be needed.

As they watched, the ship broke into the sky with a loud boom. The angle was too sharp, but somehow it curved rather gracefully to a more gently one as it fell towards the sand. For a terrible moment it shifted too much and then straightened again, now dropping faster and far too close to ground. Everyone held their breath, willing it to land even if there was nowhere to put so many people.

But then, a vision burned into everyone's memory forever, the Antelope suddenly dropped, facing straight down. The wide nose of the ship dipped towards the sand, and in a horrifying unreality it slammed nose down into the sand dunes, its hard thud shaking the whole area.

For an instant, nobody moved. The ship fell into pieces before their eyes. Little fires sprung up here and there. The acrid odor of the fuels that kept it functioning wafted out from the crash site in the soft breeze.

Then everyone ran towards the Antelope, not just the trained teams but Cyrus staff and visitors together. Nobody knew what they could do but they had to try. Willman and his people set up triage as close as possible, while others took the masks handed out to would-be rescuers and scrambled to pull those running from the collapsing wreak to safety. It was a kind of mad scramble at first, everyone who could walk or crawl or run from the ship moved away by helping hands. But getting inside the ship was more complicated. And there were far too many trapped inside.

o0o

It took time to find them, the few living and the many half-dead. The chemicals from the wreck had filled the air and only those with breathing gear could crawl inside. They couldn't see very well, but used tricorders to find anyone alive. Even with the protective gear, the wet mix of fluids made it harder, getting on skin and burning the rescuers, leaking into masks, and worse of all, making the rescue all too hasty.

If they didn't find the living soon, they would die from the fumes. Here and there the chunks of hull were simply too heavy to lift and anyone trapped under them was doomed. They left the dead, for now. Nobody knew how many were on the ship, but Willman's triage center should have been more swamped than it was. And too many of those were rescuers hurt in the sudden rush.

When all was said and done, there were fifty-five dead, including all but one of the crew of the freighter and its captain, and many more that would die in the next week.

o0o

And there were those that might live. Dr. Julian Bashir was among that group.

He came to on a makeshift bed, his upper half covered in a folded blanket. His head and lungs hurt. His leg felt wet, as if it was on fire. He let out a groan when he opened his eyes.

There were three fuzzy shapes working on his leg. As he tried to raise his head, a hand gently pushed it back down. "Careful, Doctor," said the unknown voice, "You have a mild concussion and you have to stay still."

He tried to. But the pain was too much.

"Keep him still!" insisted a voice, sharply. "We just got the bleeding stopped. I don't know if we could stop it again."

He made himself obey. He tried to ignore the pain as they moved him around, attaching something to his leg to immobilize it. He could smell the blood and the fumes.

He almost fainted as they fastened the device. One of the nurses told him softly to try to stay awake. One of his own nurses, he thought vaguely.

Finally they were done and his now-immobilized leg was left alone. He let out a breath.

An unfamiliar voice, male, perhaps the same one that had been talking about the bleeding swam into the mist to ask him a question.

"Doctor, I need to know your blood type. You've lost a great deal of blood and I don't have any records on you."

He felt utterly exhausted. He wanted to sleep. He finally remembered after a moment of confusion. "B negative," he whispered, before he forgot again.

Sleep was luring him back. Something nagged at him about that. *Shouldn't sleep*, he thought. *Can't stay awake.*

He wondered why it hurt so much, why they hadn't given him anything for the pain, why they hadn't healed up the cut in his leg.

"Talk to me," someone said. Perhaps the nurse from his staff.

"Leg . . . . " he whispered.

"We've stopped the bleeding. The wound still has to be cleaned. But we have to do that later."

Hazy from blood loss and shock, he lost consciousness.

o0o

Hazy light swam in front of his eyes and he realized he was awake. The first thing he remembered was the beam falling and the sudden, jolting pain. Then he realized he couldn't feel his legs. He couldn't move either, and could feel the padded cuffs of the restraints.

He started to panic. But the nurse discovered he was awake and lightly touched his arm. He couldn't see her in the hazy light, but could hear her calm voice. "You were moving around too much. We were worried you'd start the bleeding again. That's why we used the restraints."

He stopped fighting them and blinked his eyes. Things were a little less hazy. He could see the shapes of the other makeshift beds and the forms of others moving around tending them. He tried to look down, terribly worried about his leg. The pain was gone, but he didn't know why. He knew the beam had fallen on it. He'd had few tastes of this kind of medicine, but knew sometimes shortcuts had to be made, especially if supplies were very limited.

He couldn't tell. The haze wasn't clear enough for that much detail and he was almost afraid to look.

"My leg . . . . " he asked softly.

"We had to clean out the embedded shards in the wound. You've been in surgery. The anaesthetic will wear off in a few hours. For now you should get some sleep."

"How bad . . . ?" he asked.

He recognized her tone, one doctors and nurses used when they didn't want to alarm the patients. "You'll have to talk to Dr. Willman about that."

He was so tired. He didn't want to sleep. He wanted this Dr. Willman to come and tell him his leg was alright, that it would heal fine. He wanted to hear that the emergency treatment was only for now, that the base hospital would fix it until it was good as new.

But the smell and the noise wasn't encouraging. He could still sense the chemical stink in the air. There was burned flesh, groans, crying and other sounds he was more used to hearing from the other side. A part of his mind, thinking quite clearly, realized that he was quite lucky to even get out alive, but the terrified little boy inside just wanted to run away and hide until it was all right. Maybe if he slept he'd wake from the nightmare after all.

o0o

For once, Garak didn't die in his dream. Memories of the screaming, unsteady descent of the Antelope filled it instead.

There was a flash, many flashes of things so real he could not tell it was a dream. The beam slammed him flat against the deck. He could feel the cold of the metal as he hit and then the stabbing pain that washed every other thought away. The jagged edges tore and burned into his leg and all he heard was a rush of sound. The sudden slipping of the ship, the acceleration as it fell, and the way everything slid the wrong way made him tense up and try to grab at anything.

Hands pulled at him, ungentle hands yanking the fire in his leg too fast. The shockwave of the ship's impact shocked everything and the squeal of tearing metal sections filled his ears. And the screams. . . the screams that were too muffled because the screamers were trapped. The choking, reeking smell filled his lungs and he could barely breath.

And just before the terrible dream ended, he remembered Garak pulling him away, then stopping. Why would Garak stop?

He woke, this time his vision clearer. His leg was firmly held in a cage of wires and straps. He still had no feeling there but was aware enough to know that was a good thing. All around him were makeshift beds and more patients. The noise of their groans and cries and the hustling of nurses was not so bad this time. He expected it. Somehow, he thought, it hadn't been that loud when he was on the other side.

A nurse came near. He kept thinking about Garak and had to know. He didn't recognize her but she stopped and checked his vital signs while he watched.

"Dr. Willman will be seeing you soon. Go back to sleep if you can. We'll wake you," she said quietly.

"Nurse, the Cardassian, Garak, is he all right? I remembered him pushing me out of the way when things started to fall."

"I'm sorry, we don't have any Cardassian patients. A young Cardassian woman died of her injuries the day of the crash. I checked over the survivors yesterday and I don't recall more. I'll ask but I don't think he made it."

Then Ziyal was dead as well, he thought. "I believe he saved my life," he told her, softly.

"Then he must have been a good friend." she said.

He lay there after she'd gone, thinking of that last day when the Dominion had suddenly changed the world. He would never know, now, just what Garak thought of the rest of the novel. But if he ever found a copy he'd read it again for his friend.

o0o

Dr. Willman knew his patient wasn't fooled by the look. He'd probably used it himself. But it was easier to fall into old habit now, overwhelmed by too many patients with wounds he wasn't really equipped to handle. At least this one had a chance.

Bashir spoke quietly, almost calmly. It surprised Willman a little. "How bad?" asked his patient.

Willman kept his voice low. "The cut was deep but we cleaned it. It will take time to heal but it won't leave major damage."

Bashir wasn't buying it. "How major?"

"Scarring, and you'll require some therapy."

Bashir wasn't fooled. Willman was giving him an honest diagnosis if the patients could be evacuated in a week or two. And he was counting on more medical supplies sooner than that. He didn't really know how bad it could get if more went wrong.

"I'm a doctor," said Bashir patiently. "I know it's a deep cut and it was contaminated. Contaminated wounds infect," he finished, almost as if he wasn't talking about his own leg. "Please, be honest. How bad is it?"

Willman was impressed by the calm demeanor and knew his patient would figure it out himself anyway. "The wound is not infected now, but there is still a good chance it will. We got all the solid pieces out, but there is still the jell. Do you feel better now?"

"Not really," said Bashir, very restrained. "What can you do about the infection?"

"I don't have a lot of supplies. What you brought has helped, but it isn't enough. If that fails, there are other methods of treating the infection, but they aren't all that pleasant. I will use them if I have to."

Bashir had closed his eyes. "And if they fail?" he almost whispered.

"Then you probably won't survive. But if it comes to it, I think you'd rather be alive and not whole. I'll take the leg if I have to to save your life. I'm not making any promises but I'm going to try to keep you alive."

There was a long pause.

Willman resumed his professional tone. "For now, I'll give you something for the pain, but I can't do much. We don't have a lot left. And we're leaving it to heal by itself so we can observe it better. We don't know how deep the contamination went, and I don't want to close it

until we're sure."

Bashir became very quiet. "I'll be fine. I don't want the medicine."

Willman said nothing but after leaving ordered the nurse to medicate him anyway. The best thing he could do was sleep.

And if he was sleeping he'd not ask anymore questions.

o0o

It was Sisko's shift at communications, listening to the endless hiss, so far only broken by the fateful arrival of the Antelope. How long, he wondered, would they be left to wait? He didn't expect much anymore. Dax's warning about Wolf 359 still was in his thoughts. The Federation had nearly been destroyed in that one. His own life had been shattered and nothing could put it back together. Sometimes, he sat in the quiet room and thought of Jennifer. What would he have done if she had lived? Would he have even come to DS9? Would he be closer to Earth and their new battle for survival instead of quietly waiting for a message that could spell doom?

He realized he remembered what Jennifer looked like, but could not remember her voice. It bothered him and he was trying to find the memory when Jennifer and the past vanished from his thoughts instantly.

The unit beeped with an incoming message. He moved closer, watching all the readouts with fascination.

Somehow, this message made it through. Its signal was steady and strong. Someone must have chosen to allow it to pass.

That was not good. But none of them could take the mystery for too long.

"Cyrus 3, do you read?" The voice was scratchy and hard to decipher, but sounded magnificent to Sisko.

He answered the hail. "This is Cyrus 3." The exhilaration evaporated. What if it was the Dominion? Starfleet should have known who to ask for, not just a location. Warily, with much less eagerness, he added, "Please identify yourself."

He was surprised by the response. "Is that you, Ben?" said the voice. With all the noise he didn't recognize it.

"This is Captain Benjamin Sisko. Please identify yourself."

"Sure. Captain Jackson Braddoc, currently stuck here at the task force office. It's been a long time."

Sisko remembered him now, and even recognized the voice. "JB? Weren't you captain of the Terianna?"

"Was. Listen Ben, we have to keep this short. I have work to do. We're sending a ship full of supplies, all for you. It should be there in a few days, though I couldn't give you an exact arrival date. Food, medicine and the like. I understand you're roughing it."

"We're almost out of food and medicine, so we won't turn it down. But what we need is rescue. Is this ship going to take us home?"

JB suddenly sounded cautious. "Well, not yet. That hasn't been organized yet. I'll let you know when more is known."

Sisko picked up on the caution. A lot was being left out. "We keep communications manned at all times."

Sounding relieved the conversation was over, JB said goodbye. Sisko removed the baseball from his pocket and began turning it around and around while he thought about the vast amount that had been said between the words.

A little later, his shift over, Sisko decided to take a walk. He thought the doctor might appreciate personal word on the shipment. It wasn't going to help right away, but at least they had something to plan for.

And he wanted to check on the wounded. He was still in shock over the death toll from the crash. In addition to the original fifty-five dead, twelve more had died. More probably would. Sisko still regretted not taking them all, somehow, the first time.

o0o

Looking over the crowded hospital, he didn't notice Doctor Willman hurrying over towards him.

Sisko stared at the turmoil for a second, noticing Willman as he stopped by a bed. He waited until the doctor was close enough he could speak softly. "I've had word we'll have supplies- food and medicine-in a few days. He couldn't give an arrival date, though."

Willman glanced over the abyss that surrounded him. "Supplies would be good. But is that all you got out of them?"

"That's all he'd say. He was glad to end the transmission."

"Well, that ties it," murmured Willman. "They don't intend to evacuate anyone, I'll guess."

Sisko didn't want to see it in such stark terms. Perhaps it was delayed. "He said that was being organized."

"Like I said," stated Willman firmly. He looked around the room. "Most of the really serious ones won't last long enough to have it matter anyway. The rest, well, they'll have to live with what I can do."

Sisko didn't like the tone but much more hadn't been said by JB than had been spoken. He knew Willman was likely to make the worst of it, but then it had a little too much validity.

Willman pulled him closer to the sea of bodies. Sisko tried to find Bashir but couldn't. "I wanted to find out how my CMO is doing. He did survive the crash."

Leading Sisko towards the sea of beds, Willman pointed out one bed where Sisko recognized his own CMO, apparently sleeping.

"I'm going to need him," said Willman, leading Sisko away from the patient area. Satisfied they were out of casual earshot, he stopped. "We're overwhelmed. His leg has a deep gash, which was heavily contaminated. We're lucky he didn't bleed to death before we could stop the bleeding. We've cleaned the wound, but it's almost certain to infect. I don't have anything to treat it at the moment. The same can be said of a number of these people. It might require more barbaric means to save their lives if I don't get supplies very soon."

"All I can tell you is what I was told," said Sisko in frustration. "I couldn't get any details out of them," feeling like it was a losing battle.

"What about relocating these people? We can't feed all of you forever. They do know you're running out of food," continued Willman's diatribe.

"Yes," said Sisko, resigned. "They are sending supplies. Medical supplies and food. That is all they are saying. I wish I could tell you there was a transport but nobody has mentioned one."

Willman, having vented his frustration, had calmed down. "At least they are sending something," he said, resigned.

"I agree," said Sisko, equally resigned. "Is it possible to visit Dr. Bashir? I'd like to tell him he did a very good job. I've gotten some excellent reports."

"And you want him to know you're worried too, right?" asked Willman.

"Something like that."

"I'm not encouraging visitors, just not enough room, but a brief visit would be okay. Look, the peptalk's fine but leave the worry out. Tell him about the rain and all that. You know the drill, cheerful face, calm voice. He isn't exactly thinking straight right now."

"I promise. When would be a good time?" asked Sisko.

"Give him a couple of hours. He should be awake then."

o0o

Sisko held a meeting with Vance and the few others with authority that afternoon, telling them what he'd heard and the sense of what was left out. Willman was invited but was far too busy. It was almost dark when the meeting ended, and the Captain headed straight to the hospital as

he'd promised.

He wasn't so sure of what to say anymore. If Bashir was that sick he didn't need to hear the forebodings that were rife by evening. Everybody knew by then. They were impatient for supplies, but scared about the half-answers about rescue.

Bashir would need more than Willman had if he was to truly recover. But Sisko knew that might not happen. If Starfleet wanted to rescue them, it would have been just as easy to do that as to send supplies.

Heading towards the hospital, climbing a hilly path, he hoped he could see Bashir. But even if he'd waited too late and had to come in the morning, at least he got the walk. Even with the residual stink of the crash, the air on Cyrus was clean and crisp, and Sisko put together a semblance of calm before he arrived.

Willman stopped him by the outside door, pulling him out of earshot. The man looked grim. There were a couple of chairs and Sisko sat down.

The doctor dropped into the chair with exhaustion. He met Sisko's grim expression with his own.

"Now, I'm going to let you see him against my better judgement, mostly because he really wants to see you. But I'm going to repeat this... cheerful face, calm voice... and short visit. He isn't up to much more."

"Is he worse?" asked Sisko, concerned that he should wait.

"Yes, and to be honest if you don't see him now I can't say when you'll be able to. Captain, his leg is infected. It's only minor now, but unless we get more supplies very soon it's going to be a lot worse." The doctor's grim face worried Sisko more than the words.

"Are you saying he might not make it?" asked Sisko softly, thinking of how Muniz died.

"I wouldn't say at this point. But the potential is there for a severe infection. If that happens, we will do our best."

"If it would be better . . . ." said Sisko, as Willman interrupted him.

"No, go and see him. I warn you, he looks pretty bad. And don't mention the deaths. He doesn't know how many didn't make it."

Sisko took a deep breath and prepared for the visit.

o0o

Bashir was flushed and sweaty, his eyes half-focused. When Sisko approached he turned his head, looking towards his visitor. The doctor was trying to focus his eyes but after a moment appeared to give up and his gaze drifted away.

Sisko was very uncomfortable, especially with the way Bashir was faced towards him but not really seeing his visitor. Before, the Captain had planned a short, semi-official tone. But he wasn't even sure, now, that Bashir would even react.

The nurse came over and touched Bashir to get his attention. She bent down and spoke quietly. "Captain Sisko has come to see you."

Bashir seemed to almost focus. His voice barely audible, he said, "Captain, we got here a little late. They shot at us." He attempted a smile.

Sisko smiled back. It was hard, with all the guilt about leaving them behind. Holding tight control over his voice, he said lightly, "That's fine. We were a little worried but you made it. You did well on your first command."

Bashir was trying to listen, "I tried," he whispered. "I'm so tired . . . ."

"Then I'll let you sleep. Get well, Julian."

He left the patient area and went to sit under the awning in front of the hospital, trying to recover. He had not expected Bashir to be in such bad shape. There was so much he wanted to say. Nearby, Rom and Leeta sat together, staring at the desolate landscape. He had heard Quark was not expected to last the day.

He felt responsible for the deaths. He should have gotten them all.

The small, overcrowded hospital had smelled of medicine and sickness, and he hadn't expected the intensity of the sounds and the smells. It was from another time, with the makeshift beds and the scattering of barriers all wrong. Willman hadn't said it, but he knew Bashir could die of the infection. He had the report the doctor had filed that morning on the scarcity of supplies. He hoped that JB's estimate was on the slow side. He had the feeling a lot of the patients didn't have the luxury of time.

o0o

Julian was scared. He was too exhausted to move about, but didn't want to anyway afraid he'd somehow make his condition worse. Nobody had to tell him his leg was infected. In the crowded hospital with its limited staff, he was getting too much of their time. And he had a fever. They kept checking much too often. He guessed the fever was higher now.

He remembered Sisko's brief visit in a kind of haze. He wasn't entirely sure if it was one of the vivid dreams he was having or real until the nurse had mentioned how nice it was for the Captain to come and see him.

All he could think of was Ensign Muniz. He had died from internal bleeding and infection on that Jem'Hadar ship. There had been no medkit. Miles had spent an entire night talking about it over something that Quark kept behind the bar.

It wasn't fair, he thought. People didn't die of infections in his time. He could smell the faint odor coming from his leg. It didn't hurt all that much. He was too lightheaded from the fever to think why.

Willman had told him they were going to do a second surgery, and remove the most affected tissue. They would cut away more of the nerves and muscle. It would never be the same again. The pain would be worse, and the chance for the infection to spread in this kind of place all too obvious.

But he could accept that. If he'd been where Willman was he would do the same. The most terrifying part was the real possibility that it still wouldn't be enough. He'd heard a vague rumor that supplies were coming, but he was past that option. Without a base hospital that had the latest Starfleet could offer, none of that might be enough.

If it came to it, Willman might take the leg. They made artificial ones that were so real nobody could tell the difference. But he'd know. He'd never had to take that option, but if the war was going badly other doctors were. They probably told their patients it would all be fine, that the new one would be perfect. But now he lay in this bed with his leg stinking of infection, and no real treatment available. Now, those nice phrases didn't seem so comforting as before.

Or, what if the rumored rescue ship didn't come? Would he be left incomplete? Would he survive at all?

In his society, those that were marred were made better. Scars could be erased. Missing limbs were replaced. Children with less than the normal intelligence could be "fixed", even if it was illegal.

How many others were like him, hiding behind a lie? But the society he'd lived in only tolerated the "different". How many parents were desperate enough to take the chance of prison and isolation for their children to give them a chance for a real life?

Would that give him an advantage now, in this suddenly savage place?

Willman had mentioned, again, about the "special" procedure that might become necessary. He hadn't elaborated and Julian hadn't asked. But there was something in Willman's face that was different from the others, something he'd seen in the Bajorans after he'd come to DS9. After the internment camp he understood. Willman knew about survival. If he'd learned his "barbaric" procedure in some dark place Julian was afraid.

The Dominion hadn't allowed medical care, but he'd done what he could. None of it had been especially kind.

He was dreaming about that place, wrapping Worf's broken ribs knowing it wasn't really going to make a difference, when the nurse came with a hypo.

"Time for surgery," she said. He didn't recognize her, one of Willman's people. She was doing her job, but he could tell reality hadn't made it inside yet. She pressed the hypo against his neck and her heard her fading voice as she said good night.

o0o

Willman looked down at the chart, steeling himself against the memories. Bashir had survived the surgery, but it had not been a success. The infection had gone too deep, and his fever was too high. Willman was going to have to try to prepare his patient for the ordeal he must endure to

save his life.

It wasn't complex, and its origins were ancient. People had gone to the sea to cure their wounds long before medicine existed. Even after, salt applied to a bad wound was known to cure it. Perhaps it was good that Bashir was delirious. He'd already begun the treatment, the wet compress covering his wound soaked in a concentrated salt compound. Salts would carry the infection of a deep wound to the surface, but the pain was terrible and it retarded healing. But when life hung in the balance it didn't matter.

It was already working. The puffy skin around the surgical cut was dotted with yellow puss from the wound. The salt compound had penetrated and was cleaning the deeper parts. But while this might be enough for some wounds, this one was too deep and the patient too sick. Willman had invented the combination of salt and deburring with chemicals at a prison camp. He'd saved lives. But he hated the memory. Bashir was very sick and shock was always a risk. He weighed the option of simply amputating the leg, but here, with the silence from space an ominous sign, having two legs would be better than one.

The room was prepared. The wound would be soaked in more of the salt solution then the dead and damaged skin literally boiled away with disinfectant. It wasn't pretty or easy. But someday Bashir would be grateful.

But not today. If he survived he'd remember the pain for a long time. The leg would heal slowly and probably require more topical treatments. The scar would be ugly, and he might not have full use of the leg. But he'd live.

But now, if he could get through the fever, he had to try to tell Bashir what was going to happen.

"Doctor, listen to me. I need you to listen to me."

Willman, in frustration, put his hands on Bashir's temples and tried again.

"Doctor, you have to listen to me. It's important, we have to talk about your leg."

Bashir still seemed lost in some fever induced fog. Willman was frustrated. He would do the treatment even if he couldn't get a response, but it was better if he explained.

Bashir's nurse, a Bajoran woman named Jabara, tried this time. "Julian, listen. You can hear me." Her voice was soft but focused. "We have to treat your leg. Try to look at me."

He seemed to stir a little, some recognition appearing. Willman decided to try to talk to him.

"Doctor, we have to do a special treatment. I want to explain what will happen."

Bashir seemed to be aware of what was being said, but it was hard to tell. His fever was so high.

"We tried cleaning the infection earlier, but it didn't help." There was a change in his eyes as he tried to focus, response to the earlier attempt to save his life. The infection had continued unaffected, and the fever was out of control.

"I'm going to use a chemical burn." He didn't see any particular response, but he decided to try.

"We'll have to tie you down. It's important you don't move. I will apply a solution of chemicals, mostly various salts, and they will be allowed to be absorbed into the wound. This should kill off most of the infection."

Bashir said nothing but he seemed to be more aware than before. He looked scared. He was trying to focus on Willman.

"We can't control either the infection or the fever, and it hasn't gotten to the point were it's septic, so something has to be done now or you won't make it."

Bashir looked like he was trying to talk. But he opened his mouth and no words came. He seemed to be drifting away.

Willman wanted to hurry before his tentative connection was gone. "This is going to be extremely painful. I'll give you a painkiller, but it won't be enough. But this is necessary to save your life. Remember that."

Bashir had drifted back into his dream world. Willman hoped he'd heard enough to prepare him.

o0o

Little Jules hurt. He didn't know what the doctors were doing, but he was scared of them. When he'd first come to this place and his father had led him into the big building. It had been a big adventure. But now it was terrible, and he just wanted them to stop.

He couldn't move. They'd tied him down so they could hurt him. The world was very dark and cold and scary. Kukalaka was hiding because he was scared too.

The big doctors were talking, and there were others in the room. He could hear as their voices swelled to a roar and then grew quiet again. But Jules was listening for footsteps. He could hear them coming, again, to hurt . . . .

He did not try to move. He couldn't run away from them. But around him was a fog, deep and swirling. As the footsteps came closer, the fog grew thicker and drew very close, shielding him from the sounds in the room and making a quiet cocoon for him to hide. In the darkness and soft glow, he drifted amid a rhythmic hum, and floated with a serenity of a child safe in his mother's womb. A deep peace settled over him and he slept.

But then the peace was shattered, the footsteps so close the vibration of their thumps shaking his cocoon. A noise, loud and squeaky, split his hiding place apart and he could see the monsters.

Shadowy figures loomed above him, their tentacles reaching for him. As they closed about him and tugged at his body he tried to fight them, but could not. His body would not obey him at all. The tentacles wrapped around him and he floated into the air. Then he started to fall, a sudden slam from above pressing him against something firm and rough. The shadowy things leaned over him and he saw hints of eyes and twisted grimaces in the dark spaces where faces should have been. The monsters showed flashes of themselves, twisted and grotesque. Jules dared not move, dared not make them hurt, and he clung to the fog that still shrouded him.

Then the fog was stirred as they moved about and his safety faded and thinned. The icy touch of the monsters make him shrink away, and his hands were bound against a hard, cold thing. As his fog disappeared, his legs were bound as well, forced into a tight cuff. Helplessly bound, the sounds rose to a roar and the lights were too bright. He'd opened his eyes when they came but now the light hurt too much and he closed them, begging silently for his fog to return and shield him from this place.

He squirmed at the closeness of the monsters, bending down over him, but he could not move. His heart pounded, the sounds echoing around him, and his breathing grew ragged. His body was cold and yet he broke out in a sweat. The panic was looming around him and he tried to stop it, for they would see, but could not. He shuddered as a tentacle touched his leg. A cold fear was growing inside him, and he forced open his eyes to see. Above him, the shadowy figures loomed, their faces twisting with grotesque laughs, and their eyed fixed on him. Faint shadows danced on the wall. He stared at them, utterly frozen in his panic. The fear grew, creeping through his being, as a second touch sent a wave of shivers through his body. He trembled despite the restraints. He could not make himself be still. A touch to his arm made him jump, overwhelmed by the knowledge that they would hurt him and he could not move or run or stop them. He wanted to close his eyes, but could not take his gaze from the dance of shadows on the wall.

o0o

Jules stared at the monsters dancing on the wall, too frozen with fear to try to move. The doctors had hurt before. But they'd not been so terrible. He could not make them stop. If he could scream, perhaps, but when he opened his mouth there was no sound.

They'd forced open his mouth, then stuffed something stiff inside. His mouth was too dry. He couldn't breath, and was afraid he'd choke. Despite the fear, he'd opened his mouth wide, trying to take a deep breath, but all it did was pull the thing deeper. He tried to push it away with his tongue, and it moved where he could breath.

Something firm but mushy and round was shoved in his mouth. The monsters would not stop so he clenched his teeth into the thing. It helped a little with the pain. He breathed through his nose until the panic ebbed, not knowing where he had learned to do that. But with the monsters dancing and the fear, helplessness overcame everything else.

There was nothing he could do to stop them, like when Father went raging.

He cringed at their occasional touch, but was more afraid of the darkness.

Then it grew terrible. Something frigid and wet touched his leg. The icy touch sent a shockwave through his body, and the roaring in his ears was so loud. Then, the wetness was hot and burning, searing against his flesh, and the smell hit him. He broke into a sweat, the light around him glowed orange and shifted into flames.

Biting hard against the gag, he trembled when the waves of pain flowed through his body. The shadows were laughing. He didn't want to entertain them and willed the tremors to stop. His heart was pounding so loud its echo thudded in his ears and he feared it would burst. The wet fire burned too deep and the odor filled his mind, the pounding of his heart shutting out the other sounds. The light around him was the orange of flames.

But the pain was too bad to hear or see now. Everything became a black tunnel which surrounded him in its velvety softness.

Then a sound tore him from the blackness, a bubbling which swelled into a hiss. The air smelled of fumes. He fought to breath as the stench filled his lungs. Breath came in irregular gasps. A wave of dizziness flattened him against the deck, and he wondered if he would faint should he try to rise. His eyes were tightly shut against the burning vapors, and he could hear the mad pounding of his heart amid the wavering hiss. Stabbing pains from his leg began which spread the length of his body, and he realized it was pinned. Desperately, he tried to pull away, but could not move it. The acid was eating deeper, taking away flesh. Something was cutting across his leg near his hip, and he tried to scream but could not summon enough breath. It cut deeper, and he could feel the blade that would take it. His mind wasn't working; he tried to plead with them to stop, but could not remember the words. The acid ate deeper, and the pain began to overwhelm everything. He willed the teasing blade to drop and end the agony, but it stayed suspended, pressing hard but refusing to cut. He saw his leg reduced to bone, amid waves of unspeakable pain. He begged for the blade to fall, and it just cut deeper, while the acid rose towards it.

Then the pain had a laughing face The *thing* loomed over him as he begged it to stop. But as the *thing's* laughter thundered around the room, a wet, warm darkness surrounded him. He should have feared drowning but as it lifted him from the place of horrors there was nothing but a warm, soft comfort. The pain was gone, lost in the warm sea, and he let the water surround him as the monsters and their laughter faded away.

o0o

Willman watched as Bashir relaxed. He'd struggled too long, far beyond the point when most would have passed out from the pain. There was some extraordinary strength in this man that would serve them well. He did not allow himself to think how much that strength would be needed, not then. Now, the wound which had been jagged and rough was a smooth, red sash of raw flesh. It would not heal easily, but the infection was gone. The patient would live. If he allowed himself the comfort of being unconscious for a time it would be better, but Willman thought he'd probably wake sooner, too.

That was too bad because there was a dwindling supply of pain medication, and he would be better off lost in blackness.

The restraints were removed and Bashir crumpled flat against the table, arms ready to dangle. The nurses bandaged the red swath, and the patient was gently lifted onto his bed.

Willman watched for reaction but there was none. He was beyond noticing the handling. If he was lucky, he'd found a quiet, safe place to hide from the rest. If he was luckier, he'd bought the two days it would take more medical supplies to reach them.

Willman didn't expect rescue. All he asked was for enough supplies that these people who'd cheated death could live, however they had to, for a victory. He only hoped that it was more than just being alive.

o0o

James dropped the last of the crates salvaged from the Antelope in the stack, standing over the pitifully small pile, and following the others out of the dark building. That had been all they had been able to salvage. The rest had been too contaminated by the chemicals.

He was filthy. He and the others had been climbing all over the remains of the Antelope. Smears of chemical leftovers were all over his clothes. Everything they wore would be destroyed along with the contaminated cargo. He looked forward to a long leisurely shower and a warm dinner.

But most of all he wanted to retreat to his quarters alone. Lately he had been doing sketches, committing to paper the images of the last few days. It had long ago ceased to be exciting, but a grim fascination had taken hold. The crash of the Antelope had been James's first real introduction to death.

He had volunteered for the rescue crew. He had pulled out at least twenty who were still alive, and, working with a compulsion he couldn't describe many more who were not. Eventually, after his filter had failed and he got a few lungfulls of the fumes, he had been dragged away for treatment. But before that, he and his partner had pulled away a collapsed wall and found the fifteen people that had died underneath it.

Four of them hadn't made it past the collapsing series of beams at the back and had been buried in rubble. Even more had been trapped underneath the planks of the wall and had died quickly from the thick fumes trapped with them. They never had a chance, and yet James still checked just in case one had made it. Working their way forward, they had come to the front, where the planks had formed a cavern. The air was contaminated, but most of the fumes were contained behind the area. Four people had been trapped there.

They found them near the other end, where there was a small open gap where a corridor had been. Rubble had fallen in the way, and the opening was too small to get through. But they had spent the last moments of their lives, while the fumes were drawn in by the opening, frantically pulling bits of rubble out of the way. It was a hopeless effort, looking at it later, but they had covered their mouths and fought for life until they had finally passed out.

James and his partner had carried the bodies back to the staging area, James with a reverence he could not explain. He had been deeply touched by their desire to live. He had begun a series of sketches of their faces, and of the other moments from the crash that touched him, labeling each small drawing. He crammed the pages with drawings, impressions of the last days, from the crash itself to the survivors and the dead. He showed them to no one, but each night he added more. In between the horror, he still drew his vignettes of life and when a book was finished he would stack it with the others. Every night he added a page, and his visual diary was becoming a history of their time.

o0o

Miles didn't have anything to do, and had chosen to sit by his friend. Julian was drifting in and out of sleep. He was still flushed, and his fever hadn't disappeared, but the nurse claimed Julian looked much better than he had the day before.

He still looked terrible to Miles. He'd come to the hospital after a short walk, needing to talk to Willman about his supplies. But the doctor had surprised him by asking him to stay.

Julian woke occasionally, and Willman wanted someone there to talk to him.

For a time, his friend had been awake, just staring at something Miles couldn't see. The nurse explained, when he asked, that it was from the fever. His friend was still disoriented. But Miles kept talking, about the rain and how strange it was to wake up with the sun.

Maybe Julian heard, or perhaps not. It didn't matter. Miles didn't mention any bad news. He'd heard the rumor that they would be staying for a time, perhaps a long time, and kept it to himself. Then Julian relaxed and Miles watched as he slowly drifted back to sleep.

Did he know he'd nearly died? What would he think, later, when he did know? Would he almost wish it had just ended then?

The leg was seeping some kind of fluid, and the nurse had made him leave for a short time while it was dressed with a new bandage. Miles didn't want to think of how bad it hurt, but knew Willman didn't have much to treat the pain. The nightmare for his friend wasn't over yet, even if nothing worse came of it.

But Miles wished he was in that bed. Someday, here or at a hospital that deserved the name, Julian would recover. He'd remember the crash and the pain, but it would end.

But Miles knew his family was lost. Bajor was far away. A gulf of war existed between them now. The Cardassians had crushed Bajor before, and from what they knew of the Dominion it would be worse this time. He might never see them again. All these others lost in their own sorrows were so lucky, if only they knew.

But Julian stirred again, and Miles told him about the rain that day, how it had pounded on the tent and made the floor slick with damp. Later, he'd have more to do and find a little more life. Now, talking to his friend, he pushed the darkness a little away with words and the small hope that he would not be completely alone..

End, Legacy, Year 1, Part 2, Chapter 4


	6. Part 2Transience Chapter 5

LEGACY

An Alternative History of the Dominion War

Year 1

Part 2 - Transience

Chapter 5

Sisko was asleep when contact with Starfleet was made. James was sent to wake him, and he waited impatiently while the Captain hurried into his dry clothes. Then, James rushed to wake Mr. Vance, but the colony's director hadn't gone to sleep yet. While Sisko had been impatient and rushed, Vance stared at James with disbelief. "Sir, they will only talk to you and Captain Sisko," explained James.

"Cowards," muttered Vance as he pulled himself out of bed. He was taking his time and James kept looking towards the door. "Don't be in such a hurry, kid. I have a feeling you won't like what they have to say."

James only looked away. "At least they'll have talked to us. These people can't take much more mystery. Any of us."

James fumbled at his padd. It had been lent by Sisko's people to record communications back when they expected much more.

"Tell me that when we've had this conversation," muttered Vance as he finished putting on his shoes. "Well, lead us to the slaughter."

o0o

Rumors were rife that there would be no rescue, but that was still not certain. If there was war, sometimes things took time. There could be worse places than Cyrus if there was enough food or something to make it.

But the general mood was gloomy, and more and more people were willing to admit to feeling abandoned. In such a small, concentrated population word spread fast, and there were already people waiting when Sisko and Vance arrived, just sitting and watching.

The transport with its supplies was due in a day.

o0o

James had brought in a second chair, and Vance entered first, Sisko looking over the disorganized little camp that housed most of those who depended on him. Once inside, Sisko shut the door and pulled the second chair a little further away.

He and Vance were on speaking terms, but never without an unavoidable reason. Neither knew how to deal with the other.

"I suppose we should get started. We don't want the crowd to get too big," said Vance, resigned.

"You're expecting bad news then," said Sisko neutrally.

"What do you expect? If they were planning to actually do something useful, like getting you out of here, they would have done it before. I suppose supplies are useful, but *we* wouldn't need them if you were going."

Sisko agreed with him, thought he didn't assume the worse until more was said. Vance appeared to have given up. But whatever their fate, it would be better to know. "We'll run out soon and maybe they are buying time," he speculated.

"You're the one who trusts the Federation," muttered Vance. "I suppose we should find out," he said as he sat.

Sisko wondered if Vance just wanted to get away from him, but began the process of making contact again with Starfleet. One channel was left open and unjammed, but aside from them nobody else was using it. That did not bode well.

He issued the code to confirm his identity. The screen lit up with the Federation logo, shortly followed by the face of Admiral Ross. The admiral did not look happy.

"Captain Sisko," he said with the tone he might have used at a funeral, "Director Vance, it is my profound displeasure to be the messenger of bad news."

Vance gave Sisko an I-told-you-so look. The admiral began again.

"As of this moment, Captain, you and all military personal on Cyrus 3 are officially discharged. So, from now on you're a civilian. This also applies to all Bajoran militia members. Before issuing its official surrender, the militia was disbanded."

Sisko did not know what to think. He simply stared at Ross with curiosity and disbelief.

"Here it comes," said Vance under his breath. The admiral didn't notice either of their reactions.

"In about a week, the area in which you are resident will be officially ceded to the Dominion."

Both men had expected bad news. Neither had expected that. The calm, matter-of-fact way the rest was explained wasn't quite real to either of them.

"We're not doing this because we want to, Captain, but because we simply have no other choice."

Still stunned, Vance ask in an angry tone, "Tell me, Admiral. How many people are you selling out this time?"

Ross looked at him sadly. "I wish it was that. The Dominion fleet already controls that entire area, and we simple don't have enough fleet left to challenge them."

There was silence. Vance no longer looked angry, just stunned.

"How bad was it?" asked Sisko very quietly.

"We've lost a lot of ships, and we're still losing them. We suspect they have as well, but they have a very good supply line. Captain, we can't help you. It's that simple. Our best hope is a long term cease-fire."

"We can't stay here. There simply aren't the resources to handle this large a population," argued Sisko.

"I'm afraid that isn't the Federation's problem. You'll be getting a massive shipment of medical and general supplies, within the guidelines, of course. And supplies for building as well, although that shipment won't be there for a few more days."

Vance said very slowly, "What are these guidelines?"

"The Dominion has banned certain types of devices-common devices based on the technology that is generally used in the Federation," said the admiral very slowly.

Sisko said quietly, still not sure he was hearing this right, "Could you be a little more specific about this ban?"

"I would assume anything based on the transtator. "

Sisko was stunned. That was the basis of communicators and replicators, but much more. Many everyday things were based on the same technology, and most of modern medicine. Looking at Vance, he guessed his machines were as well.

Vance said softly, "Most of Federation technology is based on that."

"I know," said the Admiral He let this sink in before he continued, in the most official tone he could manage.

"Accompanying the supplies is a transition team. There are legalities to be taken care of. Uniforms will be turned in. In exchange, we will supply additional clothing for various seasons for each person. I would advise that replicators be used to make as many acceptable items as you can as well, as the replicators will be confiscated once the official transfer of authority is passed."

"Would you have a list of acceptable items you could suggest?" asked Sisko very quietly.

"Food would be a priority. Rations especially. Household things too, like blankets and personal items including clothes. We are sending what we can but Mr. Vance and his people will know exactly what is needed most in different seasons. And with shelters," he paused, as if losing his train of thought. "We will have building material, but you'll want something to put inside. Basic things, like shelves and tables and beds. Household things too. Anything you do, make certain it is pre-transtator technology."

There was a long moment of silence. Nobody knew what to say. Ross broke the stillness. "I am sorry, gentlemen, but I must break the connection. There really is nothing more to say." He paused, looking away. "I wish you the best of luck."

The screen went blue and the Federation logo flashed up for a second.

Vance stared at it, turning off the screen. "Bastards," he said, bitterly. "I guess now you know how the Maquis felt."

The military part of Sisko could understand. If it was true, then it was necessary to take what losses that were unavoidable, and consolidate their remaining fleet. That meant that a lot of what had been Federation territory and colonies would no longer be under their control and anyone who had not been evacuated was trapped. But Vance's remark about the Maquis hurt, for they had been abandoned just as the politicians had abandoned those who wouldn't leave to the Cardassians. It wasn't widely discussed, but before the Maquis became a personal hazard to Starfleet and the resulting crackdown begun, a lot of reasonable people had asked if their government had the right to simply draw a new border without regard to those on the other side. To politicians, it was territory, but to those who lived there it was home. Whether or not it could be called justified, the Maquis had been abandoned. And at that moment he completely understood how they felt about it.

"It was obvious something was going on. Either the Jem'Hadar were going to show up or a ship to get us out of here. But I didn't think . . . . " Sisko ran out of words to express the desolation that hit him when he let it be real.

Vance was staring at the screen, as if somehow it would be an illusion. "Well, welcome home, Mr. Sisko," he said.

Sisko pushed the disbelief away the best he could. They had to be prepared, and there might not be that much time. "Thank you, Mr. Vance. I suggest we try to discuss how we should handle things in the future. I assume we will work together."

But the crowd outside had grown. Vance had turned around, and was looking towards the door. "Maybe. But first, we have to tell them."

o0o

Vance began the address, his stunned face enough to tell them the news was very bad. Before anything was announced, everyone who could come had been called to the main square in the area housing the original residents, and people sat, packed closely, staring at the small stage erected near Vance's office.

Sisko waited inside. He did not wear his uniform, but the best of the civilian clothes he had brought along. Vance waited until everyone was there and seated, and softly knocked on his door to tell Sisko to be ready.

Vance had made many speeches in his time, but this one was the hardest he'd ever make. He had declined the task of telling them everything. There were more of Sisko's people here than his, and he'd let the ex-starfleet captain tell his own.

But Vance stood before them first, and saw the hush that suddenly fell over the crowd. He'd never seen all of them together before. It terrified him that so many were trapped on a planet that could not feed even half of them. He had never told Willman, but he'd read his book. He knew how captors could use food to coerce nearly anything out of their prisoners.

"As you know, we had communications from the Federation today. We will not keep the details from you, but Captain Sisko has chosen to explain. Please give him the courtesy of finishing his talk before you ask questions. We will have time for that afterwards."

He moved back and tapped gently on the door, then stood to the side. Sisko was dressed in his best, guessed Vance. Out of uniform, he looked so different.

Sisko approached the stage, gazing over the crowd. Those who had seen him address his followers as the Emissary recognized the calm, wise demeanor. In a sense, he was filling the same role. He must lead these people to some kind of peace now, no matter what came of the war. He was the one responsible for their being here, after all.

"First, I address those of you here from Bajor. I have received word that your homeworld has issued an unconditional surrender to the Dominion. The last act of the Bajoran government was to dissolve the militia, so any who were members are now civilians."

There was great quiet in the crowd. Here and there were muffled cries.

"As for the rest, I have the sorrowful duty to officially inform you that there will be no rescue from this place. We already live in Dominion-controlled territory. Due to losses from the war, the Federation is officially giving us to the Dominion."

There was a sudden silence more pronounced than before. Sisko remembered the shock and disbelief when Ross had so bluntly told him and Vance. There was no kind way to tell people that life as they knew it was over.

They all had feared these words, but it was different when they were real.

He continued with a softer tone. "As with the government of Bajor, all military personnel have been discharged. Everyone here is a civilian." He wondered, given what they already knew of the Dominion, if it would really matter. The Dominion had given the people of one planet a slow death with their ancestral plague because they resisted. And they were not soldiers.

The people he'd tried to save sat numbly staring at him as he told them the rest. It wasn't real yet. But this moment would be remembered forever.

"The supply ship will likely be here tomorrow. We will receive food, medicine, and other supplies we may need in the future, including clothing and building materials for more permanent homes. We are urged to use the replicators to make supplies of food, and other items that are permitted under Dominion rules. The sort of advanced technology we are used to will be banned, so we will all have to get used to a different way of life. But we must do this quickly, as the Dominion will officially take charge in perhaps a week and the replicators and other banned items will be confiscated. Those who wish to help with this effort are asked to come forth tomorrow, but today spend time with your families. Draw strength from what you have, not sorrow from what is lost."

He watched as they stared, holding each other close. His son was on Earth. Others had sent their families home for safety. Some had no one to hold. An emptiness was filling him and he wanted this day to end. Tomorrow, there would be much to do, but today they would grieve.

"If any have questions, please step forward."

He didn't expect many, not with the glum silence, but one older Bajoran stood. He stepped forward and spoke quietly with one of the monitors, and a note was passed to Sisko.

He read the note, and studied the man as he waited. He recognized him as one of the priests from the Bajoran temple. Motioning towards the man, he announced, "This man is from the temple we left behind on the Promenade. But he would like to hold a service tonight for anyone who is interested. I believe I will attend."

There was a murmur, but no more questions. He watched as a small knot of people gathered around the priest. At least they would have a little comfort.

He stepped forward again. This time his tone was different, strong and infused with the special strength Bajor and its people had given him.

"The people of Bajor spent many years under occupation. There was much suffering, but in the end they regained their freedom. They have something to teach all of us, for if you ever stop believing in yourself, if you ever give up you have truly been defeated. Life here will not be the same as it was then, and perhaps the ways we affirm ourselves will be different, but we can and must be as strong as the Bajorans were then."

He had their attention now. The rest was hard to say, something Starfleet officers were not supposed to promote. But while he was now a civilian, he would never cease to be the Emissary.

"Some here believe in the Prophets. Some have other beliefs. But hold on to those, for that will give you a strength you alone can not have. That is another gift I have come to know from the Bajorans. It changed my life and perhaps it can help some of you in this terrible moment."

He noticed Vance staring at him as if they'd never met. He hoped Vance would help merge their people into one, but had his doubts. But today, all of them were quiet and stunned as they filed out of the square.

There were too many of them. From what they knew of the Dominion, any resistance would be punished without a trace of mercy. Somehow, his people would have to find a way to bury the bitterness and learn that living life itself was a kind of victory.

o0o

Dorothy helped the older Bajoran man into bed, the camp-style cot sinking into a layer of soften ground but the surface of the tent floor dry. She covered him and arraigned his pillow so he would be sitting up and it would be easier to breath. He'd received minor injuries in the crash, but she and several others had dragged him free of the ship immediately. She knew how lucky they were, then, being so close to a break where the chemicals did not effect them. Now, the bleak words still echoing in her head, she wondered. For she and Arvel, this was forever. Some day they might see liberation, but like the first generation on Bajor, this was life as it began.

She was health. But Arvel was ill, damage from the time he was a child in another occupation, and without the care he received from the Starfleet doctors he would not last. She stared around the room, trying to imagine how it would feel to be alone in such a place. But then, others already were. They had not had time to say goodbye to loved ones, sent to Earth or other safety or perished on the Antelope. She would have time to spend, and love to remember.

She picked up the padd she always carried, her entire library. She had books and preferred them but this could be put in a bag and taken if you had to leave. She had never had to but Arvel had insisted. He had a padd as well, all his writings and research, his poetry and remembrances of his life. Picking up his the thought struck her that this new way of life would not include padds. The loss of so much of her life, all the gathering of words and stories and folk tales she'd devoted her life to suddenly became real.

The Bajoran survivors of the crash were different, she'd observed. They were just as stunned and horrified by the news, but were adjusting quickly. The Federation refugees and the ag colonies original residents were still in total shock. The Bajorans were already making plans. She looked at the padd, thinking of the books left behind in her library. She would miss them so badly. They were familiar and comfortable as a padd would never be. But it would be worse if she didn't even have that.

As if reading her mind, Arvel spoke slowly. "That will be taken," he said. "Unless we find a way for it to be saved. I am not well but I will make my appeal."

She was neither the stunned innocent nor the survivor falling back on old senses. She had seen the immediate results of the Cardassians departure but had not experienced the reality of their presence. She carried the padd, at first, to humor Arvel, and later because it was very conveint. He simply wanted to know that he could run if he had to. She had seen the living wreckage around her and understood their reactions now, but not so fully she shared them. But the idea that her own had virtually given them to the enemy had still left her numb and shocked and terrified of what was to come. She did not really want to know how the living wreckage had been produced.

But Arvel was past that and considering a plan to save what was dearest to him. She knew the colony had a library as well, and had sampled it. It also must be preserved. Books were printed on request, and now all of them needed to be. To escape into another world would be a joy all of them would need.

Shaking off the descending gloom she thought that others would have padds too, and they would be lost. Pictures and letters and favorite books. Sisko and Vance would think of the things that might become scarce, but unless their captors intended to starve them to death, they would send food. They would not send books. She straightened and looked at him. "If you must. You might be persuasive where I would not be. But tomorrow we shall ask. Or beg if necessary. But this is something we cannot lose."

He held out a hand and she moved her chair closer, taking it and squeezing his frail grip. "No," he said, "Tonight. We shall write our presentation. There will be many who want something created from the replicators. The first to be heard will have the most success. We should be at the head of the line."

His tone was so calm and with a confidence she could not feel And a cloud of gloom was descending. She had to give it its time and acceptance before she could think of plans. And they would be thinking of necessities when they began replicating things. "But they'll be wanting to make rations and blankets and other things we won't be able to make as we need them."

"Yes," he said calmly, "They will need to. But it will take time. Copying the padds people have to print and the colonies records will be quite simple. While they are considering more complex questions it could be finished." He squeezed her hand a little, and wore a faint smile. "It could be done. And we have an advantage."

She wondered if he was more sick than he let on from the level of confidence. She could see nothing that one would consider an advantage about an older couple who had nothing to offer but books. Not to a Starfleet Captain, or who was, who would have no room for the non-essential in his new life. But she asked, tiredly, the day's news catching up. "What advantage?"

He waited until she was watching him. "You didn't listen at the end. That was not Captain Sisko, former starfleet commander. That was the Emissary. No one can take that from him." He turned towards the woman he'd loved more than anyone in his life, who shared the things he loved even if she barely understood how important they were now. "Others will be speaking to *Captain* Sisko. We will make our appeal to the Emissary."

Dorothy had lived on Bajor since the Cardassians had fled, and it had become home. She had heard of Benjamin Sisko and his new position, but generally dismissed the politics of her new home as inefficiently complicated. The Vedic Assembly was just another cadre with an interest and the Kai another politician. But Arvel was a believer, and thinking about it she had seen the inspiration in Sisko's voice in those last words that was extraordinary to hear after the shock of the first ones.

"We go and ask to speak to him personally then," she said, pushing back the horror of the situation. "I'm sure the colony will want the library saved as well." She was trying to concentrate, but the words that condemned them in this deepening trap kept distracting her. The words weren't real yet. Somehow it would turn out to be a ruse and Starfleet would rescue them anyway. "I am very tired," she said. "After a rest."

She let go his hand, and pulled her own cot next to his. Climbing inside, she wrapped herself with her blanket and rolled as near him as she could. "I'm afraid," she said. "I'm afraid there will be nothing left of life as we have known it."

"I never translated this into Standard," he said, sadness and resignation creeping into his eyes. "It was my personal words to live by. But I believe they should belong to all."

He started reciting a poem in Bajoran. It was about a tree, as it grew, and the sorrows and the joys and the life that took place under its reach. And the way the sun filtered down like lace and even in the ugliest of times, even then, was beauty. And listening, she could see the filament of light as it redefined the darkness. No matter what befell those who lived near the tree, the sun still shone and the lace lit the ground beneath it.

He stopped, his voice quiet. "My mother disappeared one day. My father had died when I was very young. I never knew what happened to my mother, if someone took her or she ran away. But I missed her. I would go to the tree to remind me that tomorrow would always come. Sitting there that day I decided I could live in misery or with hope as she did. That is when I wrote the poem. So I wouldn't forget." He patted her hand. "Rest, this is frightening for you. It is . . . greatly saddening to me. But we will take back the light tonight. Not out of fear or panic, but because we will not forget how to dream."

She said nothing, not wanting to see the images in her head of how life might be. But she listened to his quiet breathing, still calm and still undiminished. But she had heard terrible stories about the Dominion and wondered if books would be permitted to be a part of their world.

"What if they won't allow books?" she whispered.

"Then," he said with great confidence, "We'll have to conceal them where they won't know."

o0o

Vance didn't know why he'd gone to see Willman, but he had to get away from the stunned faces and perhaps, he thought, Willman might have dealt with it a little. But despite his past history with the Cardassians, Willman was almost as lost as the rest. Neither had said much. Willman was reading through supply lists and Vance just watched. But Vance had an idea. In a way, Sisko's talk at the end had started the seed of hope. "It was nice of them for the advanced warning," he said.

Willman said nothing for a moment, staring at Vance. Finally he said, very thoughtfully, "I understand the replicator is busy. That's good. This great plan should have been started last week, but at least something is done." Then, he paused, gazing at the sky. "When they take it they'll be able to tell it's been used a lot. They'll want to know how. That's not good. You don't need to make yourself more noticeable." He looked back at the padds on his desk, "Maybe we could make some paper and pens so I can get these lists copied before it's too late."

Vance eyed him with caution. "There are things we can do something about, as in *save* before it's too late." Willman looked up from the padds, suspicious. "Remember those caves we found, the ones in the nearby hills?"

"I should. I'm the one that first found them," said Willman slowly.

"They can't be scanned."

Willman was watching him carefully. "Not by our equipment, but who is to say They can't see inside?"

"Would you rather they take everything?" asked Vance, his tone very grim.

"Better *things* than us," replied Willman.

Vance considered the point. "I'm not talking about anything big. They'll know about the equipment. It would be missed. Just enough that their absence won't be noticed. You're going to lose all your equipment too."

Willman looked rather grim. "And things hidden in a cave aren't going to be of much help."

"Not now. But who can say about later?"

"That's a lot of temptation," said Willman, speculating.

"Only a few will know, and most of them won't know where. Not even Sisko."

"It isn't Sisko I'm worried about. And I refuse to believe he went along with this." Willman eyed Vance with disapproval.

"We discussed it. He didn't like the idea. I didn't ask him either. Look, we'll keep our people under control. Are you saying that we can't trust our own?" asked Vance, insulted.

"I'm saying," Willman began angrily, "that you don't know. What if people get desperate? You can't tell me what they'll do. And when they get caught it isn't just them that will pay for it."

"Okay," said Vance, after a moment, "there's a risk. But I think it's one worth taking. Sisko's people brought a lot of stuff, none of it cataloged. We save it, and fill the crates with rations."

"A lot of it was contaminated or damaged. You won't be hiding much if that's all you plan to hide. It's hardly worth the risk." Willman was deadly serious.

"It will be better than nothing. I'm not giving up so soon."

Willman gave him a blistering scowl. Then he sighed. "There is something we must discuss, before somebody gets killed."

Vance took note of the tone and the words and calmed down. "Okay, discuss."

"We have to talk about how to behave, things like heroics and stupidity."

"In case you haven't noticed, people are scared." Vance was calm and serious now. "They aren't going to be stupid."

"How do you know? Just what do you know about these people and what they want. They *won*, remember. We need to know more what to expect. Sisko and his people have a lot more experience in this."

Vance made a face. "I'd rather keep Mr. Sisko out of this conversation, if you please."

"Why?" retorted Willman. "He's not leaving. You have to learn to deal with him. I doubt he's any happier about it than you, but neither of you have time for this."

"You like the man. You do the talking. I promise I'll listen.

"You'll have to do more than listen. We're going to need rules and organization. You *are* the director of this place. Try acting like it. You're not a Maquis terrorist."

Vance watched as Willman stared. "I don't advocate that. I just want to save a little, that's all. I'd feel better with it hidden in a cave even if I never could get it out than I would with it gone. I don't know what it's going to be like, but I want something to believe in. Maybe a few things in a cave won't help now, but I'll know they're there. It will make a difference to me."

Willman's eyes went cold. The sudden shift scared Vance. He saw no compromise in the eyes. "It will likely make a lot of difference to others, and when they die I hope you understand."

Vance fled the room. There was a makeshift morgue with the bodies of those who died in the crash already. The hospital incinerator was to be modified to burn them, so family could save the ashes. The sand and rock of Cyrus was too likely to just wash away if they were buried. If you got too close there was a trace of rotting stench, and it made him shiver. In his own way, he admired the Maquis. They'd tried to defend their homes. In his mind they were noble warriors.

But the Maquis had been wiped out by the Dominion by now. They would spare no one. Walter had learned about that growing up on the mean and hard little places his father took him. He needed some kind of hope, but was afraid, too. So was Willman. He faced something he knew, but then, even he didn't know about this enemy.

Vance still wanted to hide things in the cave. He needed a secret hope that would make up for the desolation. But the ice in Willman's eyes followed him as he passed the morgue and he wondered if he'd have the nerve to carry out his plan.

o0o

Cameron Zale watched as Vance left Dr. Willman's office, curious about what he had wanted. Vance wasn't that close to Willman, and Willman was very friendly with Sisko. Zale assumed he was doing Sisko a favor, perhaps delivering a message. Zale kept tabs on his boss, and knew Vance avoided the refugees and didn't like Sisko, Neither did Zale, partly supporting his boss as a chief assistant should do, and partly because the Captain was being far too cooperative. He hadn't liked Sisko's little speech at the end of the address at all. He had no intention of even pretending to cooperate.

Vance's staff had held a meeting after the announcement. Still stunned and scared, Zale had proposed that they resign, en masse, when the Dominion arrived. If Sisko wanted to deal with the invaders he could, but it would be without their help. They assumed Vance would follow suit. But even if all the rest changed their minds, Zale had already written the letter of resignation. He wanted a record of his refusal to turn traitor.

The spirit of rebellion was alive and well in the room until Rafferson had ambled forward. He'd been sitting in the back and hadn't said a word before. "What makes you think they will even care about you?" he asked, completely deflating their balloon. He was serious, and grim, and not what any of them wanted to hear. "I've been talking to Sisko's people and they are scared. They've seen enough of what these people do and have every reason. Resign if you want, but don't act like it's some new adventure. I wouldn't make a big show of it. From what I hear, they don't like that much." Rafferson made a point of staring at Zale. "It's not going to be unanimous, anyway. I'm not quitting."

Zale hadn't spoken to Rafferson since. He'd ruined their protest, but worse he'd reminded them of reality. Most would still resign, but it would be a personal thing now. Zale wanted to see them thumb their noses at the invaders.

Rafferson had stolen that satisfaction. After the resignations were accepted, they'd still have to deal with this scary new world. Watching Vance as he walked down the hilly path from the hospital, Zale wondered if Willman had done the same.

There were things they could do, little things, to not be owned. Zale had read about that. Willman knew about it too. But he *needed* to fight them. If there was somewhere to run and fight he'd already be there. Their resignation would have helped, but it wouldn't mean much now. Zale wandered back to his quarters, skirting the refugee camp that now would become a village, and shut the door. Tomorrow, the ship would come and he'd have work, but today he didn't want to see or hear anything but home.

o0o

Vance wandered back to his office, once a necessary evil and now a refuge. Here, he was still in charge of something. Here, his ideas mattered. In a week all of that would change. And judging from the transfixed look of the crowd after Sisko's speech, perhaps it had already.

He'd only brought up saving what they could to Sisko in passing. He had no intention of saying anything more. He didn't even know if he wanted to do it at all now.

What if Willman was right? What if the Jem'Hadar, these animal like soldiers who liked to kill and smash down their victims, were to find the secret? Would all the people they'd kill be worth a few little items nobody could even use?

He sat in his office for a time, but it wasn't his anymore. There was one place Sisko or the Federation's betrayal couldn't take away. He shut his door behind him quietly, remembering the square with all the people. How long would it be before they were hungry? Would the conquerors allow them to use what they had so they could at least feed themselves?

The warehouse was lit, Justin already there. Walter assumed he'd come there once the speech was done. Here, in this large building, the dream still lived. The big machines sat waiting to transform the land. The lingering scent of the chemicals that would have made good soil was still noticeable. If there was a refuge left him, it was this place.

Justin was standing by a crate containing the replicator they'd received recently, intended to make spare parts, just staring at it. When Walter moved close enough, he said softly,"Did you know that this isn't on anybody's list? It was loaned but the loan wasn't recorded. Officially, it doesn't exist."

It hadn't been used yet either. He and Justin were planning to make it a surprise when the field was done. It had been believed that they'd need a lot more supplies after the field was done and other areas were readied and it was time for the project to have its own.

Justin kept staring at it. Walter came closer, worried about invisible ears. As far as he knew, the staff thought the crate had machine parts to be cataloged later. They needed to keep thinking that.

He thought about how useful a replicator could be someday. But Willman's caution had rubbed off on him, and he hesitated. "It won't be of much use. You're thinking of hiding it, I assume."

"Oh, not just that. Leave it in the crate and move it to the caves. Then, where we're shielded, we replicate copies of the smaller pieces." Justin's hand pointed generally over the warehouse. "And we keep stored patterns for the bigger pieces. Then we store the project for later. I'm not giving up this easy." Justin was determined to do it. Walter wondered if it might be worth the risk. A few bits of equipment probably weren't, but a replicator was different.

But Vance was still uneasy. Justin was proposing a very audacious plan, and before he'd talked to Willman he would have agreed. But his idea of saving a few small items paled next to this. He said cautiously, "I don't know, Justin. It's dangerous."

Blanchard turned toward him and stared. "Is this the same Walter Vance who fought for thirteen years to make this real? You would give it to the enemy just like that?"

"I don't know . . . . " said Vance, hesitating. "It's so risky." But he needed a reason to worry about tomorrow. Without any future he didn't much care. The project had been his life for so long he didn't remember a time it wasn't. Maybe it wouldn't matter to the invaders if there were a few things or a lot. If it cost lives at least it had to be worth it. He added, his decision very sudden and terrifying, "From what I hear they say *any* contraband. I doubt it would matter too much if it was a few things or all this."

He walked around the room, touching the machines that would have proven his dream, but now could not, not even if Justin managed to save them. Or, he thought, perhaps they would still make the dream real, just delayed. If the Dominion took it all, there would be no dream left to save.

Without the dream, nothing else mattered.

"That is the point," said Justin, indicating the contents of the warehouse. They take it and officially they have it. They have no reason to go looking. We need some sort of hope to hold onto, Walter. I'll play their game and Sisko's game all the way. But I'll know my life's work is still waiting out there. Yours too." Justin smiled, and Walter Vance remembered the kid he'd met in college who had become such a fast friend. Oddly, Justin reminded him of that time far more than any since.

Pushing aside the fear and having already decided, he agreed. "Well, I guess you should get started then. It should be all done and out of sight before that supply ship gets here."

Justin smiled, and Vance was struck, again, by the oddness. "Certainly. I don't have anything else to do. The area we did seems to have set well, too. It will be interesting to see how well it turns out next spring."

Vance watched as Justin began his work, almost looking like the kid. Justin said he'd be by later for dinner and Vance gave a terse smile and fled the building.

To Justin, it was still a game. The cold flash of reality in Willman's eyes had vanished that illusion for Walter. He wanted the project to survive, but there was no joy or excitement in it left anymore.

o0o

Sisko was sitting in the communications room when the tap came, Rafferson already working with him and his people. Vance's other aides were doing nothing and he had been advised they would be resigning. It would be good if Vance and his people were willing to work with him, but if not it was just as well that they didn't. He would know who he could trust.

Rafferson had paperwork in hand. It was so odd to see it appear so accurately. The word had survived when it had become letters stored on padds but now Rafferson held a pile of real paper in his hand. Sisko wasn't sure he wanted the reminder but then he didn't have the time to allow himself to feel much right now.

"Sir, there is a couple who insists on seeing the Emissary," said Rafferson. "And when your done, " he paused, holding up the pile.

Sisko had been able to summon his other self for the meeting but it felt rather alien to him now. But if they insisted. It was preferable to the stack Rafferson had for him.

"Show them in," he said.

To his surprise the couple was an older one, the woman human. He leaned away from the comm unit emitting nothing at all now, again, and sat up straight and smiled. He even almost felt something inside.

"Emissary, we seek to present a proposal which is for all, not just those who believe. But one which is needed for a meaningful survival."

It was the man, the older Bajoran, who spoke. He should have been addressing the Captain but it was better this way. "Certainly," he said cordially. Somehow it was still easy to fall into the role. "Could I have your names?"

"Thay Arvel," said the man, and Sisko's interest perked. He was a well known poet and writer. Sisko had never met him but had read all his works.

"Thay Dorothy," said the woman, "Although your records may list it the other way around."

She was a well known researcher of literature and folk tales, and had visited the station and done readings. He regretted he'd never been able to attend. His interest was certainly perked now.

"I believe we finally got Starfleet to accept the Bajoran form," he said.

"I will not take much of your time. I know there are many things to do," said the man, but he held out two padds. "This contains my life works. All I have done. And this is my wife's library, everything she has ever collected. Some of both are on memory devices, of course, but when they come they will take all of it. We ask that some means of saving this be employed. It is too valuable to lose, especially as it will be all that remains of our cultures when they come."

Sisko stared at the padds. Willman had people copying things. He'd complained it was going to take forever. Someone had mentioned the library had means of printing. He did not know if the Dominion would approve of their writing, but there had been no indication they had looked before. If they had obedience they didn't seem to care.

"I believe those are a gift to everyone here," he said, remembering some of the Bajorans work, which he'd read in its original language. "The library is already printing everything in physical book format. I see no problem in printing as much else we can preserve."

"Thank you, sir," said the woman, who looked both terrified and satisfied at the same time. "Will these soldiers allow us to hold onto our heritage or will they destroy it as others have in our history?" she asked.

She was speaking of human history. He understood. "I believe so. We've never seen any indication that they care as long as people follow their rules and behave. I think something to remember and some hope might help that happen."

The man looked up, somewhat disturbed. "Emissary, during the Cardassian occupation the Vedik's sometimes aided the resistance and sometimes betrayed it. Do you suggest that there should be nothing but obedience with these creatures?"

Sisko slipped out of his role and became Captain Sisko, tasked with saving their lives. His voice hardened. "I don't see a choice. They are not like the Cardassians. They act fully when they act. I know it is distasteful, but if they see resistance and certainly if they see violence, they will start killing people. I know this is not right to some, but it is how they operate."

There was silence. The woman just looked away. The man became grim. "I know. I lived on Bajor all by youth. I do not know how those you have come with will cope, but my own may not cooperate." He looked at the padds. "But perhaps, perhaps having something to hold onto could help." He paused, looking distantly at the comm unit. "You speak Bajoran. I have never translated this. It is my private words, written after my mother disappeared to keep me from giving up. May I recite it?"

Sisko felt the Captain fading. He worried about the Bajorans but more about his own who would not really understand the consequences. But he could do nothing about that now. "Most certainly," he said.

The man stood, rather shakily. But he lifted his head upwards and spread his arms. Then he half-spoke, half chanted the poem. Sisko could feel the tree around him as it sprouted and grew, as the branches arched into a circle and the light filtered down like lace. He knew of such trees. He could see the despair and pain which it saw and those it sheltered for a small respite of beauty and calm. He could feel it around him then, the makeshift camp and mud and fear all distant now. The sun shone down and cast a lacy, delicate pattern around him and he knew that somehow they would find a way. His eyes were closed, the room silent, and the speaker resting in his chair before he spoke.

He could only whisper. "I only wish it did not need a translation. Could you do one before tonight? I would ask that you perform tonight at the service, and then perhaps as others are told you could do a translation for those who are not believers."

Thay smiled, as Sisko opened his eyes. "Shall I tell the story of my family and my mother, especially to those who did not live on Bajor?"

"Yes," said Sisko quietly.

"Thank you, Emissary," said the woman. He could tell by the tone she understood what it was to be the Emissary but was not a believer. But she was giving him an honor in using the title.

They left. He just sat in the darkness, listening to the wind as the leaves rustled and knew that as hard as his task was, he would never allow himself to lose what mattered. Someday, everyone would understand but for now he would have to resist becoming the enemy.

The tree filled his mind and he let its light wash over him with a joy he had never felt before.

end, Legacy, Year 1, Part 1-2, Chapter 5


	7. Part 2Transience Chapter 6

LEGACY

An Alternative History of the Dominion War

Year 1

Part 2 - Transience

Chapter 6

With his fever down, Bashir was awake most of the time, and Willman had finally allowed him to sit up in bed. Even though it was clearly a struggle to pull himself up, the younger doctor had refused help from the nurse. Gritting his teeth, he'd finally collapsed against the pillows in relief as he looked around the room, able to see the whole dismal place for the first time.

First, however, Willman examined the leg. With his patient triumphantly reclined, he thought Bashir might listen. "Your leg is better. The infection is still there, but substantially reduced to where local treatments are working." Bashir stared at him, waiting for the rest. "If you have to know, an awful lot depends on those new supplies. So, I'm not making any promises."

Bashir said nothing. Resting against the pillows that propped him up in his bed, he dropped his gaze to the blankets below him. Willman wondered if both were thinking of what came after the supply ship.

Without looking up, Bashir almost whispered, "I understand."

There was something soft and distant in his voice that worried Willman. He'd seen patients die mostly because they didn't care about living. He knew the young doctor had heard about the Dominion rules. The treatment had mutilated his leg, and now nothing was ever really going to fix it.

In that prison camp, Willman had learned that survival had more to do with the will to live than anyone suspected. He couldn't tell if this patient cared enough to stay alive.

But he had to survive. If supplies ran so low a patient had to be sacrificed, this one would get priority over others. They would need another doctor.

"Remember, you are needed, and will be needed more than ever in the future. If you're as committed to medicine as I've heard, you'll manage because it's your duty to survive for them."

Bashir turned his head away, and said even more quietly, "If they leave me here."

Willman sat on a nearby stool, touching Bashir's hand softly. "I don't understand."

"I was replaced by a changeling. He tried to start the war then, but failed. I spent almost two months in a Dominion internment camp."

Willman guessed the rest. "And you escaped," he said softly, to keep it quiet.

"Several others as well. They're dead." He drooped down in the pillows. "Do you understand now?" His tone was bitter, and angry. Each word was spoken precisely.

Willman did understand. If their conquerors were like the Cardassians, he'd be taken immediately. But then, there were probably hundreds of places they now controlled, and it would take them time to check the identification of every captive. It might buy him time. "You aren't fit to travel. And you'll be of less interest to them than someone who's well."

"If that makes a difference to them, it would only be a delay."

Willman waited until he turned his head and looked across the bed. "Perhaps. But you can become useful in the meanwhile, and if you are needed enough it might save you".

"How would you know?" There was a wary look in Bashir's eyes, and Willman suspected he also knew about the rules of survival.

"The same way I know how to treat your leg. Except it was the Cardassians."

Bashir covered the surprise. "How long?"

"Two years. We were released as part of the treaty," he sighed. "I discovered a few other tricks then. I wrote a paper on them. I doubt anyone read it though. Everyone assumes that they will always have their toys."

"I hope I'll be able to learn them," said Bashir, who turned away from him. "I'd like to be left alone for a while."

Willman ordered his staff to give him some time.

o0o

Lonnie wished she was still on shift. The hospital was still full, and she worked as many hours as Willy would let her, but she was exhausted and he'd made her go home.

To get there, she had to walk down the hill to the others camp. It looked messy and crowded. People sat out in the sunshine with children, pretending it would be alright.

She had believed they'd go home. No matter how silent the skies were, or how many rumors had spread, she still believed that someone would come for them. She paused, just watching, and almost turned back to work.

They weren't leaving. Somehow, there would have to be enough food and shelter for everyone here. She had nothing to do with the terraforming research, but knew it would never be enough. They'd come here, even her, to live more simply. They'd tried to make a connection with the soil and sun. They'd tried to rediscover old values of saving and repairing lost in a society where everything could be replaced with the touch of a button.

Now, the old joke of being hearty pioneers had a bitter edge to it. In the future, life would have to be more basic and simple. But it wasn't a choice anymore. When all the little tools of daily life were gone, they'd find out what simple meant. If they did manage to grow food enough to feed themselves, it would mean hard work in fields that had to come to harvest. And the little things they still took for granted would take on so much more value now. In the end, when it couldn't be fixed there was always the replicator to make a new one. But that would be gone, too.

She still had the paper from Willy about the subject. He'd already changed procedures so there would be little waste, and he'd reminded his staff that much they took for granted would soon disappear. He'd also described the sorts of injuries they might see if they were lucky enough to be permitted to make more land and have fields to tend to.

She knew he was preparing another paper on the signs and diseases associated with malnutrition and starvation. But perhaps the others had been enough of a reality check for

now.

He'd printed them on paper. He was already recruiting people to copy hospital records to paper so there would be something left when the Dominion came.

But it wasn't real yet. Lonnie came to her door, opening it softly. Inside her own space she could think.

She pulled off her uniform and changed. She had pictures of her family sitting out and covered them. It wasn't enough. She'd always been on the edge of her society, never really wanting to be a full part, but this was unthinkable. It was said they were being betrayed for "peace". Peace for whom, she wanted to scream at some Federation politician safe from harm. Did it really give the people of Earth the security they wanted? Who had given them the right to choose the course of her life?

She glanced at the papers Willy had passed out. There was a list of staff. He had already absorbed those from DS9 who had survived the crash. There were a fair number of Bajorans among them.

She'd watched the survivors carefully that day. They were still in mourning, having lost so many they knew. But there was a deeper sadness, and a greater loss. Most of them had lived almost their entire lives under Cardassian rule, but there had been five years of freedom. Now, even that would be taken. During her rounds she'd watched, trying to comprehend how it felt to have something you'd dreamed of all you life suddenly ripped away.

Looking at the papers Willy had prepared, she realized that she hadn't really considered that her own freedom, and that of all these others born under the safety of Federation law, would disappear as well. It still wasn't real yet.

There was a knock on the door. She really didn't want to talk to anyone, but she couldn't ignore a potential emergency. Reluctantly, she put down the papers again and opened the door.

It was Willy. She and the staff called him that. Most of the people who had come to Cyrus before knew him by his nickname. But looking at his grim face, she wondered if it really fit now.

He invited himself in, a case of files in his arms which he left on her floor. He didn't look at her, but she could tell he hadn't slept and was on the edge of exhaustion.

"I'd like you to keep these for me," he said.

She didn't understand why. "I suppose, if you want, but . . . .?"

"In case someone searches my things. These must stay here. We'll be needing the information."

His voice was so cold. It scared her a little, as if a stranger had come to her door. "Why me?" she asked. "Why wouldn't mine be searched too?"

"I'm the head of the department, and the doctor. They would pay a lot more attention to mine. I know these kinds of people. They usually concentrate on the top. So maybe they won't look so carefully in your things." Then the coldness vanished and Willy reappeared, tired and scared. "I know it's just theory, but it's all we have going for us. So don't give them a reason to want to look."

Lonnie was confused. He had become the man she knew, but his eyes looked at her as if she were a child. "I won't. I'm so scared of them I don't want them to even see me."

He stared at the room, his gaze settling on her family pictures with his papers sitting next to them on the table. "I'm sorry for you, Lonnie. You have no idea what I'm talking about."

She caught the fear in his voice. She didn't want to know but understood some day she'd have to. "Why don't you tell me then."

She sat across from him, and he pulled her forward and hugged her. His face was haggard; his eyes holding a look of infinite sadness.

"How do you feel about this betrayal by the Federation?"

She was numb. She knew all the words but they didn't really mean anything yet. "I don't know. I don't think it's real yet."

"It's going to be real soon enough. You're one of my assistants and from what I'm told they tend to deal with a single person." He paused, his look harder and more serious. He stared at her now from across the gulf of time and experience. "But I'm responsible for your behavior. You challenge things. That could be dangerous in the future."

Something in his tone reached deep inside her. She could see a wall they'd pass through that would change everything for them. "What . . . what will they do?"

"We don't know, but I've been talking to Sisko's people who have had contact with them. If we're lucky, they will set up rules and leave us alone as long as we follow them."

"And if we don't?"

"They send in the Jem'Hadar."

She had heard of the Jem'Hadar-genetically engineered soldiers, bred to be loyal, prone to violence but cold about it. That's what she had read. She tried to imagine them in her home. It didn't work. She still could not believe it.

"It's still not real, Willy. Give me time."

"Well, you have a week."

She could tell he wanted to go. But he'd mentioned Sisko's people. The doctor would matter to them, and he'd been very upset all day. If she could be held responsible for hiding records, she deserved to know why.

"Wait," she said as he was approaching the door. "What were you doing with Bashir today? He was very upset. He wouldn't talk to anybody once you left."

"He had to be drawn out of this mood. He's got reason to be scared. Earlier this year he went to sleep at a medical conference and woke up in an internment camp. With extraordinary luck, he and a few others escaped. He apparently foiled his changeling duplicate's plans. He is scared of being taken back there once they discover his identity."

She was stunned. She could only imagine the fear. "He's been so withdrawn. I thought it might be the pain."

"Some, of course. But mostly it's fear. For all I know he's right. But I'd still rather see him upset than hiding. And he has probably had the closest continuing contact with them."

"He'd calmed down when I left. He was asleep then."

"How was the fever?" he asked, looking worried.

"It was up just a bit. The supplies are supposed to be here tomorrow."

"Would you do me a favor?" he asked.

"Sure," she replied with a little trepidation.

"Go back and monitor him. I want to know if the temperature spikes. If it does, get me there

immediately."

o0o

Reality caught up with Lonnie Broadman that night. She sat by Bashir, watching as he slept and wondered what kind of nightmares he lived with. But his fever was rising steadily, and after a few hours he woke up.

He wasn't entirely coherent, but Willy's talk was on his mind.

She was thinking of the records in her quarters, and Willy's lost eyes when her patient looked up at her. "Are you, uh, Lorrie, Dr. Willman's nurse?"

"It's Lonnie, and I'm his medical assistant."

"Sorry. I don't think we were introduced."

"Willy, I mean Dr. Willman, ask me to monitor your fever."

"He's afraid I'll die on him even after that torture."

She smiled. "You would have by now if he hadn't."

He thought about it for a moment. "He said a little about where he discovered it. Something about the Cardassians."

Everybody else knew about Willy. She figured Bashir deserved to know as well. "He was on a small survey ship captured by the Cardassians during that war. They sent them to a prisoner of war camp. They let him treat his fellow prisoners, but only gave him the most minimal equipment. So, he improvised."

"From what I've heard we'll have to improvise again," he said, a trace of bitterness in the tone. "If they let us."

"Maybe we're lucky he's here. Willy is a very dedicated man. He wants to teach you what he knows."

"If I'm here," he said grimly.

"I know. He told me."

"Both of you talk a lot."

"Sometimes, talking is good, especially if you're having bad dreams."

"You don't want to know about my dreams."

"But I want you to talk if you feel like it. Anyway, we have to live under these people, at least for now. Willy seems to think I should listen to you."

"You want me to tell you everything?"

Feeling a bit of trepidation, she told him to go ahead.

o0o

Walter Vance stood on the small rise between their little village and the expanse that was to have been their field, watching the flurry of activity. It was nearly covered in tents, grouped in sections, and the pathways between were already visibly defined. In the short time they had been there, the land had already been claimed and changed by Sisko's people.

Vance tried to see it as they had that day, full of pride and the culmination of dreams, but he no longer could. The green field had vanished along with the dream it represented. That morning he'd awakened empty and alone. The dream was dead and they would never see the fields that had been within their grasp so little time before.

He almost wished that the field had been done before Sisko and his people arrived. It wouldn't have changed anything in the larger world. But they could not have perched their camp there and perhaps in the spring next year a lot more land could have been ready to plant. He didn't know where Sisko would have put his people, but he didn't really care either.

Walter had turned to Justin because he was the only one who might understand, but when he reached the warehouse Justin wasn't there. It was a relief to Walter to not have to see that which was to have been his field at least. But the machines which would be taken away were just as much a reminder.

Standing in the warehouse, it was hard to believe it was so near the end. Everything was in its place, neatly arranged, with the grime of use on the surface. The only thing missing was the replicator. At night, taking pathways only known by a few, they'd moved it into the caves. Then, using a portable power source, they'd duplicated the smaller machines. There was enough of everything to do a field, but it didn't matter much to Walter. Their overlords wouldn't allow it, and a little of Willman's warning still nagged at him.

His life, as he had lived it for the past 15 years, was over and what happened to him now was incidental.

But a little while later his old friend and partner had pushed open the door, giving Walter a cheerful smile.

It wasn't returned. Justin wouldn't notice. Walter had seen the man shut out the outside world before. In a way, he envied the single-mindedness. Blanchard still had his dream. He might never achieve it, but it was something worth playing the game to try to preserve. For Walter, the dream was over. All he had left was dissapointment.

They took a walk, intending to go to lunch. It had rained the night before, a light rain, but the ground below was still wet. A lot of people seemed to be setting out things to dry. He wondered what they felt, lost here with nothing.

They'd changed the place already. The carefully cut terraces had been dug deeper along the pathways to funnel out the rain. They had started a moat of sorts along the back to keep the mud coming off the hills from sliding into the area. He considered offering them help, letting them use a few of the smaller machines, but changed his mind. It wouldn't compromise their cave, but lost in this place he did not belong, he understood. They had to dig the ground themselves. It was a little act of control in a world with little else their decisions anymore.

Justin was watching as the dirt from the moat was dumped on the upper level. Underneath the cut soil, it was more chalky and harder. "When they get done, we should crush the rocky soil for them. It would make a better space that way. Next year it should have some native ground cover on it too"

Walter almost envied the men and women at work. They had something to do. They probably slept better for the day. But Justin was right. The hard chunks of core soil wouldn't absorb the rain so much. It would make a relatively dry bed for them to escape the crowding once the rain quit. "Why not offer now?" he asked.

Justin sighed. "It's not time. Not enough soil, anyway. And later, when we have to be cooperative it would be much better."

Walter wished he could believe in the dream hidden in the cave. But if they survived it wouldn't make any difference for a long time. He needed something now to fill the empty space in his life. "Forget the game. I don't like Sisko, but we could hammer some of that to gravel before they take away the machines. We don't have later for that."

Justin shrugged. "If you want. I'll get it. I think the rock breaker would work by itself."

Walter nodded. "And one of the small diggers. It would help get past the boulders."

Justin shrugged again. "We don't have anything else to do," he added.

They worked alone, not including any of the aides that might have noticed the replicator crate. But Sisko's people were so grateful that for a moment Walter wasn't completely lost and Justin had a real reason to smile.

o0o

The next morning, Willy found Lonnie sitting under one of the shades in front of the hospital chewing absently on a piece of food. Her eyes were red from crying, and she was staring at the hill but seeing nothing.

Willy sat next to her, waiting until she looked at him. "I heard you were there all night," he said.

"He wanted to talk," she said. "He needed to talk. I could tell. So he told me everything that happened in that place. He even told me about the Cardassian."

She was looking at him, but not seeing Willy or the square at all.

Willy touched her lightly, trying to get her attention. "He didn't tell me about him. You did better than I did."

"He didn't tell the Starfleet doctors when he was debriefed either. I was the first person he's ever told." She looked away. "I think he was out of his head a little or maybe he wouldn't have told me, either. See, when they put him in isolation, they picked between him and the Cardassian to beat to death first."

Willy had little sympathy for the dead Cardassian, but felt for Bashir. There were a few things Willy had never shared. He understood, but it surprised him that Lonnie drew it out.

She was still in shock. "And those people are coming here? We have to live under them?"

She was upset and looking for comfort, perhaps some hope to grasp that it would be only for temporary. But that was not what she needed.

He hardened his voice. "Yes, Lonnie, that is what is going to happen. I can't tell you what they'll do, or where they'll be. But at least you know whom we will be dealing with now."

Tears welled, and then stopped, as his tone sunk in. She was trained as a nurse, and had special emergency certificates as well. She knew how to behave. Willman needed her to do that now. Later, alone in her quarters, she could grieve.

"What about the fever?" he asked in his normal voice.

"It's elevated, but not bad. He's sleeping now."

"The supply ship will be here in an hour. Why don't you get a little sleep."

"I'll try to," she said. He watched as she stumbled off down the path. She would be strong because she had to be, but this moment he knew she'd go home and bury her head in her pillow to mourn for the lost world.

o0o

James had lived a vivid dream. Even after waking, the images still filled his head. The emptiness it had left behind still surrounded him, and he sat with pad and pen in hand. The pictures flashed in his mind, and engrossed in his sketches from the dream, the sounds and images blocked everything else.

The day before, nothing had been real. He'd waited with the others outside while Sisko and Vance had received the news, and stared with disbelief at Sisko when he'd made his speech. James could not bear the idea that he'd be stranded here, perhaps forever. The words had laid ruin to the carefully built road of dreams that gave balance to his life.

Mr. Vance hadn't really noticed. James had run several errands for him, lost in a fog, and had finally been able to escape back to his room. He had no desire for food, and had skipped dinner. All he could do was sit at his desk and draw, trying to commit every image that danced in his head to paper lest he lose them. After escaping from Vance, he'd spent most of the afternoon and evening that way, finally falling into an exhausted sleep late that night.

And then the dream had come, and its vivid images drew him inside. He was at the park, and all his relatives were there, even those already dead. It was a birthday, and there was a cacophony of cheerful sounds, from laughter and conversations, from the tapping and clinking of the diners, from the shouts of the children as they played, and even from the birds and the rustling of the leaves in the gently breeze.

James felt the grass under his feet and smelled the scent of the flowers, but he was not a part of them. Instead he watched from a distance, nothing to connect him. He was drawn to it, but something kept him away. He could not enter, but it vividly lived in his memories of times past and times imagined. He was home. All that kept him from being there was space of nothingness he could not cross.

Abruptly, he was torn away by a thunderous noise, and the sky split open. The people in his dream screamed and ran, and then a bolt of black nothingness slashed down from the ruptured sky. The trees began to crumple to dust. The birds ceased to sing, and vanished. The air was deadly still. The nothingness spread, taking the grass and the picnic things–then the people. As darkness filled the image, the familiar faces of family and friends faded and disappeared. He watched, still drawn to it, from his distant place, as the black nothingness consumed everything, even himself. In the darkness, the emptiness covered him in a deep strangling fog. Even after waking, it had not gone.

He sat at his desk, pen in hand, but could not draw. It was too distant, too far gone for him to see. He'd been in this place for a long time. He sat frozen in the blackness of his grief unable to move.

Then, a noise jarred him back to the room and the desk. His pen dropped and he stared at the blank paper. He'd always been able to let the images flow into ink, even the most painful ones of his life. Now, he could not make his fingers move.

But someone was tapping on the door. He recognized Lonnie's voice, and he silently stood and walked to the door. Hesitating, not wanting to let the terrible new world inside, he opened it.

o0o

Lonnie's eyes were red and swollen, her face pale, but someone had asked about James. She hadn't seen much of him, but he'd only tolerated this place before and now he could not leave. She worried about him. What if she had been younger and somehow her own dreams had been ended like this? Would much matter to her then?

He stood at the door, lost and bewildered. He knew, she could tell. Something had reached into his world and destroyed every hope. She noticed the pad and pen, a dribble of spilled ink all that was on the page. He liked to show her his drawings. If he could not draw he must have given up.

But she knew that was wrong. She was a nurse with a job to do, and perhaps that would help. But James was smart and young and resourceful. He would have a place in this terrible new world if he could find it. Perhaps it might be his art, but he had to have something. That was what she had learned from Bashir that night.

He and the others had had hope , and it kept them alive. He had been able to do something for the others, and perhaps it had helped with the his own despair. James would be lost without something to matter. But now he was just lost and she put her arms around him.

He melted into her arms. She held him, letting him cling to her. Perhaps she was his mother and he was a small child. It didn't matter. She didn't know if it helped him or her more, but for a moment the grief was theirs.

She couldn't cry. He crumpled against her, sobbing into her shirt, and she surrounded him with her arms. She pulled him to a chair and let him fall into her lap.

She didn't know how long they stayed that way, his sobs shaking his body while she stroked his hair. Her own heart was breaking and she was terribly afraid of the future, but she knew she had a place in it.

James did not. She looked at the pile of sketch books he'd put at the edge of his table. Somehow, a place must be made for him in this world. She would find a way.

He'd stopped crying, and fallen asleep. She pulled him to his feet and walked him, half aware, to his bed. He crawled inside the covers without prompting, and she pulled off his shoes before she tucked him in.

For a moment she stood as he rolled himself into a ball and fell into a deep sleep. She was tempted to look at his book, just to see what had thrown him into awareness, but did not. It would be trespassing. Perhaps the invaders would not care, but she already understood that the only respect they would get was that which they gave themselves.

She went home, after staring around the room and closing the door behind her. She still wanted to cry, alone where she could let out her own pain. But the tears did not come. To allow them was to open a door she had closed that the night before.

James slept, but she could not. She lay in her bed staring at the ceiling, her mind full of ideas. He would find his place because she would make it for him. She could change nothing of her own life. But she could make his a little better.

In one lost boy's life, she had found her strength. If only it was enough to get her through the dismal future that awaited them.

o0o

For hours they had been making rations. Miles and his assistant, one of the Bajoran engineers, had filled crate after empty crate until there were only a few left. He knew that this mattered. He had come to share Willman's view that it should have started a lot earlier. But he was tired of rations. What he wanted most of all was a plate of real food.

Sitting to his side was a half-empty crate, filling slowly with spare parts of every sort, contributed from any source they had. Nobody knew if it would be taken away, but they had to try.

Dumping a load of rations into a new bin, he estimated ten or so more loads before this one was full. He hoped it would be enough for later. But he didn't allow himself to think of that now.

He had this job to do and he let it shut out all the pain.

"Pretty soon we'll be done," he said, little conversation having been exchanged all day. His assistant spoke Standard, both having removed their communicators. Sisko had encouraged that, since soon they'd have to learn how to understand each other without them.

The young man was quiet and rather withdrawn. Miles knew he'd been from a village the Cardassians had controlled. "That is unfortunate," he said slowly.

There was an uneasy silence. Miles knew how the Cardassians had used food to control when other ways didn't work. "Any place else we can put more rations?" he asked.

"We must find some," came the cautious reply. "I will spend as much time as I must on this task."

Miles thought he had a good point. They would need as much stored as possible. He'd ask Sisko as soon as he could. But the ship was due any time. "I'll find out. I'm keeping you to that promise."

The Bajoran stopped, then nodded. "It is soon," he said softly. Then, he turned to Miles and looked at him with grieving eyes. "Sir, has there been any word on Bajor? I understand there has been more communication coming in."

Miles had heard the rumor too. He'd been to see Sisko to see if he could get anything out of him, but the Captain had said it wasn't about Bajor. But it had been something important. Sisko was upset, though he barely showed it, and Miles had decided to leave him alone.

"If it was they wouldn't say. It was probably about this transition," he said, grimly. "Sellout, if you ask me. I just might give them this uniform back on my own."

His assistant said nothing at first. "You and others. Most have already ceased to wear it." He paused, looking at Miles. "I would not choose to be a part of this transition team." Miles was about to agree when the remote comm system in the warehouse beeped, and he flipped it on. Since the people on Cyrus hadn't used translators, it simply relayed Dax's voice. "Are you done yet?" she said in her working voice. "They are already unloading supplies."

He looked at the crates. "Not yet. I'll be there in an hour."

"Are these the last ones?" he ask the Bajoran.

"I believe so."

"Good. We've got to finish this. We don't want them to see what we've been doing."

The two men continued to fill crates until they were full, both hoping a place would be found for much more before it was too late.

o0o

The beginning of the end of their world came in a runabout. In the sky above, a ship orbited that could take them all away to safety. But instead, because it was not allowed, it would leave behind a cargo of goods, and process all the legalities before it took its leave. They would remain, Sisko thought, because there was no choice. If just one of the people from Cyrus or DS9 were beamed aboard, the Flanders would never make it home. If not destroyed, its crew would be taken prisoner. And those left behind on Cyrus would be punished for the attempt. That was the general nature of the messages O'Brien had ask about.

He hoped to gather his people before the end to make sure they understood. But the exchanges and supplies would help to reinforce the message.

He didn't like it. He could tell that Vance was even more angry. But there was nothing to be done. The tired voice on the other side of the comm line had made that quite plain. Sisko hadn't asked how many other times he'd repeated it to the rest of those abandoned by the war.

They'd also been briefed on the Dominion's plans for them. No one would be moved offplanet, but supplies would be brought for the transition. There would be enough food until the Dominion's own supplies could reach them. There were plenty of building materials for them to make shelter for everyone. But no one could leave. That had been repeated too often to be ignored.

The ban on standard Federation technology was also made official. There would be no replicators or communicators. Medical equipment with advanced technology would be taken. Even the common household toys and tools which used the same technology would be gone. They had been much more specific than the earlier warning.

Starfleet had stressed this rather forcefully. The Dominion was absolutely firm about that rule. To break it would invite the Jem'Hadar.

As he watched the runabout land, Sisko remembered Vance's remarks about hidden supplies and hoped they had not set themselves up for disaster.

The Dominion would treat them as a captive colony, and as long as the stated rules were followed they would remain untouched. They would be dependent on the Dominion for food, medicines and general daily supplies. These could be withdrawn at the whim of whomever administered the area. Sisko hated the situation, and feared it would lead to something much worse, but could do nothing about it.

He even understood why the Federation had betrayed so many of its own, but could not keep away the bitterness.

He was sure the Dominion wanted something more than they'd said. He was even more certain that nobody on Cyrus would like it.

The war had been brief and utterly destructive. Everything in the vicinity of the battle had been destroyed, including several major homeworlds. There stood a swath of destruction in the middle of what had been the Federation that was now a line of truce.

Both sides had had major losses. Resources had been stretched beyond their ability to replace, at least immediately. It was in the interest of both to call a truce.

Of course, the Federation intended to rescue them. Someday, when they could break the Dominion line, liberation would come. But that day might be a long time away, and in the meanwhile the whole world would change for them forever.

A deal had been struck, giving the Dominion legal control of the territory it already had. There would be a long term cease-fire. Left unsaid was that it would last until both sides rebuilt their forces. The loss of freedom of every person behind that broken line was buying the survival of the Federation.

The tactician and analyst in Sisko could see the reality of it. It was war. Sometimes things and people had to be sacrificed. It was practical. In reality they had already lost the territory. It would take a long time, if ever, to get it back. At least they could bring some support to those left behind this way.

The Dominion could resupply itself without interference through the wormhole, but they underestimated the Federation. Given time to recover, the Federation/Klingon/Romulan fleet could be back up to strength in a surprisingly short time. And the Dominion would have dozens of captive colonies to supply, creating a strain on their own resources. IF they allowed it to be, he thought, but banished it. It was as likely as not to make for a stable border. The only problem was, they just happened to be on the wrong side of it.

Deep in his own thoughts, he watched as the shuttle doors opened.

o0o

It was a little larger than the runabouts on DS9, but of the same basic design. Commander Garnet and his five aids emerged, all dressed in crisp Starfleet uniforms. Garnet wondered if he they were a special reminder of what these people had been condemned to. A short way ahead a crowd of people had gathered. None of them were in uniform even though many of them had been.

Garnet surveyed the crowd, noting the suspicion and hostility it was radiating. He had been less than happy about this assignment, and almost regretted not turning it down. Better the admirals and politicians do their own dirty work. Personally, Garnet would have fought until the last ship was lost rather than sign away so many people's lives.

A tall black man and a middle aged white man were approaching him. As they came near, he moved ahead of his assistants.

Out of immediate earshot of anyone, they met.

"I'm Ben Sisko," said the black man.

"I'm Vance."

"I should not say I'm glad to be here. But I am relieved I can bring what I can. Stanley Garnet," he said, offering a hand that was reluctantly taken by Sisko and declined by Vance. "We need a place for a private talk, gentlemen. We have a lot to do and it has to be done in only a few days."

o0o

They had settled on the inner office of the communications building. It was a little cozy, but Garnet preferred it that way. None of his aides could protest not being included in the conversation. "Gentlemen, I wish to extend my sympathies, to you and all your people. I didn't want this assignment, but considering the situation, I think it is perhaps better that someone who will give you the proper respect do this. It won't change anything, but at least I'm not being so cold about it as some of my counterparts."

Sisko appeared to appreciate the idea. Vance just stared. "Thank you," Sisko said softly, looking away.

Garnet just nodded. "Now, like I said we have a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it. The first matter is the supplies. We need to know where you want them. We can beam them there but remember it should be a relatively large area."

"That could be a problem," said Vance. "All the large buildings are being used for storage or people already."

"Okay, we'll take a look around when we're done here. And the building supplies for shelters we're sending will be here in two days. We need a place for them to unload as well. They will deliver their goods and be gone, so we can't delay them. You need to consider where you want to

build."

Vance sighed, a haunted look in his eyes. "The area where the tents are is where I'd recommend. It won't flood in early spring and won't get inundated in snow in the winter." A look of absolute despair came and went on his face.

Garnet nodded. "Like I said, you have two days to decide. "Now, the really important part. I need a list of everybody here, with some kind of identification. They want DNA tags on all of you".

Sisko was visibly shaken before retreating behind his mask. "Our records already have them."

"For some of you. Not the non-human population and not the families. We are having difficulty getting access to Dr. Bashir's records from the station. And we need it very soon. Also, clothing sizes for the clothes packets. I'm hoping to do the exchange tomorrow." Garnet noted something on his notes.

"Does this involve only military personnel?" asked Sisko.

"Not exactly. This is my version. If I have to do it, I do it my way. I don't want anybody getting frostbite in the winter because they were a civilian."

Sisko sighed, somehow resigned. "I can see we're lucky you took the job."

"What I need now is a place for everybody here to meet, at least everybody who is mobile enough. Those on duty we'll catch individually. There will be time for questions as well as a briefing on the currently sad state of Starfleet. And I have materials available for letters home, for those who have somebody to write to. We can work on our list at the meeting too. Basically, that is pretty much what we're here to do."

o0o

The little colony had three replicators, at least known ones. A larger one was now installed in the local square, along with a portable one intended for field use. The third was intended for duplication of special parts, and could not produce organic material.

A fourth, specialized version, took the stored text of books and other documents and copied them to book form. It had completed most of the library, working without stopping, and was now copying the padds of individuals, making copies for them of books and one for the library as well if one was not already there. The books were being packed in crates and stored in a warehouse, for now simply labeled as records. Willman was having his hospital files copied last and they would be on top, just incase anyone wanted to look.

Rationing had been closed, at least for now. The two food replicators had been set up and the populace was free to make whatever they wanted at last. It was a last fling and they all knew it. In a few days, the replicators would be gone. They would enjoy them up until then.

o0o

Miles had waited for the replicator, bringing a tray along for Julian. He knew the replicators would be long gone before his friend could go for himself. He held the tray with great care as he came up the hill, making sure nothing spilled, and paused to check at the door.

But Lonnie stopped him, eyeing it with great suspicion. Miles had noticed how she hovered since Julian had spent a long night talking about old nightmares. She was at the door, Miles assumed, ready to send any of Garnet's men away.

She looked him over closely before letting him come inside. He waited until they were past the door, then stopped. "How is he doing?" he asked, a little reluctant to hear bad news. But he'd rather know before he saw Julian.

"He's doing better from the new medicine, but he's very groggy from the pain meds. We'd like him to sleep, and the cleanings are painful." She lifted the cover on the tray. "But I think he'd like some soup."

"I heard about Garnet's man," he said, watching her eyes. He saw a flash of anger, quickly banished. One of Garnet's men had asked that Julian be awakened so a form could be completed. Lonnie had not only refused but personally thrown him out of the hospital.

She sounded pleased. "Dr. Willman has issued orders that none of his patients are to be disturbed by them. But we keep watch anyway."

"Garnet's okay, but some of the rest of them . . . . " He stopped when they reached Julian's bed. Bashir was not sleeping, but vaguely staring at the ceiling, reacting only occasionally to things around him.

"He was sedated for the procedure this morning," she whispered. "But he'll eat if you feed him. He may fall asleep on you, but he wakes up fairly soon. Just get him to eat what you can."

o0o

Miles sat by his friend, waiting for him to notice the spoon. He tried to concentrate on the food. When there was nothing to distract his mind his thoughts returned to the wife and children left behind on Bajor. They had been alive when the Antelope left the area, but that had been over two weeks before. There was no guarantee the Jem'Hadar hadn't killed them since. When he was busy, he could stand the uncertainty. The soup wasn't enough to cover the worry but sitting by the bed slipping Julian a few sips when he was awake was at least a physical, tangible thing to do.

After almost an hour of sips, Julian finally responded. Miles noticed he was stirring around. His eyes came open and almost managed to focus.

"More plez," came a soft request. "Tasze gud," said the heavily sedated doctor.

Miles gave him a few more spoonfuls of the soup before Julian fell asleep. But Miles sat in the crowded, haunted room and waited for him to wake. Julian took two hours to finish the little bowl of soup, but Miles brought another in the evening.

Sitting by his friend, he was at least able to make a small difference. He couldn't keep his children fed or hold his wife. He couldn't bring them out of the darkness. But the soup was Julian's favorite, and at least he could give him a last chance to remember before they took everything away.

o0o

Garnet was conducting the meeting himself, maintaining the same somber but practical demeanor he had in the earlier private meeting with Sisko and Vance. The large crowd was silent, listening to the presentation. Just as with the clothing exchange, he had done this his way. He had added more details about the frail state of Starfleet, and defined the conditions under which the cease-fire was drawn. Normally, civilians were not briefed in such detail, if at all. But this was Stanley Garnet, and if he had to do this job, he would do it as fairly as he knew. And he would not lie to them.

He turned to the clothing packs. "Now, for those of you who are former military, either Starfleet or Bajoran, we need your uniform back. You'll exchange it for a large packet of various seasonal clothing. For those of you not former military, the clothing pack will also be provided. In the case of children, we need the age of the child as well as the size so we may provide clothing in enough ranges so there is something to grow into."

There was a murmur in the crowd prompted by the reminder.

Someone had a question. It was relayed to him by one of his spotters. He requested that the man ask it himself.

"Sir," said the man with only a slight hesitancy, "You're making this sound like we should prepare to be here a long time. I realize that we can't expect rescue tomorrow, but this *is* just a cease-fire. We can expect to be liberated once Starfleet has a chance to recover. They would not just abandon us."

Stanley Garnet paused before speaking. "The politicians and the admirals will tell you that in time they will retake this area, because they have to. They will say it because somewhere deep inside is still a conscience and it hurts them to lie, to call a surrender a cease-fire, to call a no-man's-land a demilitarized zone. Somewhere deep inside they know that what they do will forever change the lives of people who gave them loyalty and trust. So, they make statements they know cannot be carried out to salve their own consciences. But I am neither an admiral nor a politician. I was given an assignment I didn't want because I didn't believe in it. But I chose to take it because I can at least show a greater measure of humanity to those the politicians and admirals have chosen to abandon. I dislike it, but can accept that I cannot take any of you with me. Were I to do that, my ship would be destroyed and you would discover what happens when the Jem'Hadar manage things. But I will give you all I can to at least make your physical comforts more liveable. I cannot help you with the adjustments you will all have to make to living under domination, but I will not have left you with a lie."

There was neither anger nor tears, just the stunned realization that this might last a long time, for some forever, and a great respect for the man who was willing to say it.

They gave the DNA tags and filled out the forms and listed the ages of their children, because they had to. Maybe they were getting used to the idea a little. Then they wandered away to mourn for the future for which they were no longer a part.

end, Legacy, Year 1, Part 1-2, Chapter 6


	8. Part 2Transience Chapter 7

LEGACY

An Alternative History of the Dominion War

Year 1

Part 2- Transience

Chapter 7

There was a line. Miles waited grimly, like the others, for the exchange. He had already been wearing civilian clothing; his uniform and assorted pins were in a bag. In another was what was left of Julian's, who wouldn't be needing the new clothes for a while. At least he was better, the fever almost gone, and receiving medication for the pain.

The line slowly shuffled forward, tempers building. There had been several fights, broken up by evacuated station security personal.

The heat, the rations, and the lack of privacy had already taken their toll. Despite Garnet's sympathies, the rather distant detachment of the transition team didn't help. Granted, it wasn't a very happy job. But it made them feel like their all control of their lives had already been taken away.

Miles stared across the dismal landscape below them where the broken hulk of the Antelope still rested. It would be cut up and removed eventually but even then he would see it lying there and wonder if the dead might have been the lucky ones.

Eventually, it was his turn. He gave the crisply dressed young ensign his bundles and waited. The ensign avoided looking at him. "Miles Edward O'Brien?" asked the clerk.

"Yeah," said Miles, putting his hand on the screening device to prove who he was.

"This one's yours," said the young man, accidentally glancing at Miles. He didn't look any happier than the people in the line. Miles guessed he would rather be nearly anywhere else than on the wrong side of the truce line. "These are for a Julian Bashir?"

"Yeah. He's in the hospital".

The officious young man disappeared for a moment, reappearing with another bundle. "It checks. You have to sign for it."

Others had larger bundles and were struggling with them. Julian was on his own, but the smallness of the one Miles had received was simply another deep wound of reminder that his family was lost so far away.

Miles signed his name at the bottom of the form and again put his hand on the screen.

It was done. The clerk motioned him out of the way without a word, looking beyond Miles and his bundles. Then the ensign called out, loudly and officially, "Next," as Miles stumbled along with his load.

o0o

It was a scene out of the wrong century, thought Miles, watching the sprawling hospital area made up of any shelter they could find. And it looked entirely too much like the camps that were on the way to becoming new villages he'd seen on Bajor a lifetime ago. He was heading towards the main building area where Julian was still housed, along with more serious cases.

A nurse waylaid him. "Just a few minutes. His cleaning was just finished."

He nodded and slowly made his way to where Julian lay on the flat cot, his legs and hips immobilized so they would not move.

He lay with his head to the side, jaw clenched. His eyes opened at the noise of Miles arrival, the pain evident.

"I could come back later," said Miles.

"It fades," said Bashir through clenched teeth. His eyes closed and an involuntary groan escaped as a wave of pain hit. A minute later he added, "eventually."

"Aren't you getting something for the pain?" asked Miles.

"Yes," said Julian with a feeble attempt at a smile. "It was better before. I just fainted then."

Miles tried to think of something to say. "I got the clothes. The line took forever. I stashed them with mine."

Julian turned his head away. "I hope they fit you. It will be over once they get here," he whispered, grimly.

"You don't know that," said Miles as steadily as he could.

"Thanks for trying," said Julian bitterly. "I have to sleep now," he said, very groggy, his latest dose of medicine kicking in.

Miles hoped it was enough to banish the nightmares.

o0o

Lonnie spread the new clothes over her bed, sorting through them. Officially, the original residents weren't entitled to packets, but Garnet didn't like that. She'd heard from Willman that privately he had gotten the records from Vance, and the colony staff found clothing packets waiting for them when they returned to their quarters.

Garnet had done more he hadn't announced. A surprise supply of general household items, minus the special electronics, had been replicated. He had sent more food as well, mostly in dried form, something they could save. He had ordered a large supply of antiquated medical equipment for the hospital. Among the supplies, they found more crates labeled 'extra children's clothes' for the children not yet born.

But the most touching act of kindness were the letters. There was one from her parents, trying to express the pain in them without calling it pain. They did not say goodbye. It would be too final to put it into words. But it was there, written between every line. There was a sorrow to their words that made the situation all the more real.

There was another, this one from a good friend who had gone into Starfleet. Its tone was different, almost pleading. "I know you won't understand," he said, "and probably believe that you are being abandoned. I hope they have told you about us, about how many are dead, how many ships are gone. The truth is they won't say it all. But we can't save you. If the war doesn't stop now we will lose. I know the truth is hard to say and nobody official will, but it's you who are saving us. I don't know what they will demand of you but I know it will be hard. Try to remember that at least one of us is grateful to you and will not forget. Feel free to share this letter with any others you wish. To all of you, goodbye."

Lonnie sat on the bed among her new clothes, holding the second letter, grieving for the world she thought she had run away from but desperately wished she could see again.

o0o

Before they left, it was hammered into his head that there could be no deviations from the rules. This supply mission was being permitted to continue unharmed because of that agreement. It meant they couldn't bring anyone back with them.

Garnet looked at the man sitting across from him in his improvised office with compassion. "Really, Mr. O'Brien, I do understand. I wish we could do something for your friend. But that could jeopardize this entire operation. We can't make exceptions."

He wouldn't give up easily. "It was less than a year ago. They held him in one of their internment camps for over a month. They escaped. He's the only one left here that was part of the escape, probably the only one still alive, but he's expecting to be taken away when they get here. I've tried to say something, but he's right. There really is no way to tell. You can't do this. Starfleet can't do this."

There was betrayal in his eyes. Garnet hated his job more than ever at that moment. He hated what the Federation had done. He hated having to be the instrument of that policy. Personally, he wished the politicians and admirals who made the deal had to tell these people that they were no longer deemed important. But he knew he could not get around that part.

He looked the man in the eyes. He hadn't done that before. "I really wish I could. If there was a way I could justify it I would, but there just isn't. This isn't up to us anymore. If I took anyone back with me, we'd never get there. It's that simple. I don't like doing this anymore than you do. But my answer has to be no." His voice carried all the pain and hurt he felt. He hoped O'Brien

would come to respect it.

"I'm sorry I've bothered you, then," O'Brien mumbled. The anger was fading into resignation. The betrayal was still there, but no longer directed at Garnet. He watched O'Brien as he left, hesitant and scared.

When he was gone, Garnet stared for a time at the door. He wasn't sorry that Mr. O'Brien had come to plead his friend's case. At least he had gotten to tell someone exactly what he thought of his orders.

When he got home, he'd make sure the letters were delivered with an extra note from him. He didn't much care if Starfleet or the politicians minded. All he had to remember was the pain in the man's face who had just left his office and the fear for the friend he was trying to save.

o0o

Jadzia had kept to herself since they arrived on the planet. She could not push away the absolute conviction that she had lost Worf forever. She had lost many loved ones in her multiple lives, mostly when her host changed, but this was different. This had been beyond her control. This time it was as if he had been simply torn away.

But then she had found a letter from Worf in her clothing packet. He had fought in the battle to break the Dominion line, in hopes of freeing those caught behind it. His first words were simple and abrupt. He did not say what he could in private, but she could tell how bad it had been. He said goodbye. He had stopped there, signing the letter. But later, he'd started again.

Worf was more complicated than any of the others imagined. He tried to be the Klingon warrior he looked to be. But she had not pledged herself to him for that. Underneath was a sea of feelings, and after he'd blurted out the truth, he tried to say what he might have had the Dominion not separated them.

She honored him for the reality of his letter. She doubted many others had been able to do that. But she loved him for the flowery, wonderful words about what they shared she'd hold inside her forever.

She had lost lovers before, and learned to survive. With the memories of seven lifetimes, she knew how hard it was to suddenly have someone taken away. But this was not the same. Death had not separated them this time. She and Worf were alive and she could not mourn for him. It was war, and they both understood the chances of losing each other. Still, she sensed a frustration despite the finality of Worf's goodbye. She knew he would think of her when entering battle, and perhaps vow revenge. In his place she would do the same.

It would do no good, though. She knew, as they all did, that they had lost their families and friends. All of them would work out their own grief, in their own way, and would ultimately have to learn to lean on each other. These were the people she had to be concerned with now, those who shared this gritty little world.

That morning, while they had done a requested survey of supplies on hand, Miles had mentioned Julian was feeling better. "He can actually say three words in a row that make sense and stay awake to hear a reply."

"It must be all that soup you're feeding him," she said.

Miles had looked surprised. It was the first spark of life she could remember feeling for weeks. "You know, I bet he'd enjoy seeing you. I'll ask Lonnie about a good time for you to come."

"Who's this Lonnie?" asked Jadzia, very curious.

"Willman's assistant. She's been running interference for Julian since he talked to her, apparently really scared her too. She actually ran one of Garnet's more obnoxious people out of the hospital when he got unreasonable. Julian's getting these treatments that knock him out sometimes. You have to pick when he's feeling better. She knows his schedule."

"What about all that equipment they brought? Is this place so backwards already that he has to go through all that pain?" She was angry about that. She knew it was inevitable but it didn't help.

Miles gave her a strange look, but only briefly. "Actually, Willman doesn't want him too fully recovered. He's hoping he won't be too noticeable."

Jadzia didn't understand. Miles watched her for a moment before replying. "They are both afraid they'll take him back to that place he was held before. Julian's convinced himself they will. Willman has an idea that if the Vorta in charge of the area sees him as useful he could keep Julian here. Willman's been around."

She nodded. "I hadn't considered that," she said thoughtfully. "You respect Willman."

"He's thinking. Too many people aren't. At least we got you back."

She gave a half-smile, and liked Miles and respected him, but would not unburden herself on him. He was dealing with his own grief in his own way. "You know, Julian once described this soup his mother used to make. Something unusual she did with it. I wonder if the replicator could do it. Would you mind if I brought him his dinner?"

"I think he's probably tired of looking at me by now."

o0o

Jadzia hadn't been to the hospital before. She hadn't been out of her own small quarters much since they had first arrived, consumed with the depth of the loss she had not anticipated. Everything about the place surprised her. The three weeks that the others had spent learning to cope with the new world springing up around them had been spent in a self-imposed isolation for her. Except for her job, which she had dealt with distantly, she had not seen the changes.

But now, all at once, she saw everything. Walking up the small hill that led to the hospital, she dreaded what she would find there. Heading for the main building, soup sloshing in its container, she paused. A sudden chill overcame her, so intense she had nothing to compare in all her lives. For a flash she was overlooking a much different place. The sense of disorientation lingered after the vision, eventually fading as she slowly resumed her walk, mindful of the soup, until her head had cleared. It came and went in an instant, but its intensity and horror and distant reality would live with her for the rest of her life.

o0o

She didn't remember ever meeting Lonnie. But when she ask where he was in the sea of cots she knew it was Willman's assistant that took her to a quiet corner instead. "He's feeling a lot better, but he isn't very strong. Don't encourage him to talk unless he wants to. Mostly he just likes someone being there."

Jadzia smiled at the nurse. "I've done this before. I'll just feed him his soup." The nurse both amused and irritated her. She didn't need the pep talk. But the way the nurse was carefully protecting him was extremely interesting.

Perhaps Julian had made a good friend. After the chilling moment outside she knew he would need someone. And perhaps, after his description of his lost month, the bond between them had already begun.

Lonnie continued. "One other thing, he's been insisting on feeding himself. He gets upset if you try to help. Just try to keep him from spilling too much of it on his bed. We're short of supplies and it's very painful when we have to move him."

Jadzia suppressed a shiver, as if the room was full of unsettled ghosts.

"I have it wrapped in a blanket. I'll put that down first." Jadzia smiled at the nurse again, still on guard but a little more reassured. "I'm glad he has someone to worry about him."

Lonnie went official, but it was a mask. Jadzia could tell she didn't appreciate the comment. Staff in situations like this were not supposed to become fixated on one patient. "We will need another doctor," she said calmly. But she was afraid for her friend.

Jadzia called back to her as she was stepping away. "Your Lonnie, I'm assuming."

She turned back. "Yes, sorry I didn't introduce myself. We're so busy." A dark look passed over her face.

"It's just that Miles has mentioned you and I wanted to thank you for being so good with him. Well, him and Julian."

"I'm just doing my job," she said, but couldn't wait to get away.

o0o

Jadzia sat next to Julian's bed, fighting off a wave of claustrophobia that was, at best, only lessened. Julian had managed almost half the soup by himself, delighted by her surprise, but had faded suddenly and gone back to sleep. She moved the food and waited for him to wake up again.

Still full of casualties from the crash, with patients still dying from injuries that could not quite be treated, she was taken by the sense of miasma that had come over the place. In the nine days since the crash, the death toll had risen to seventy-five. Looking around the hospital with its look of something lost in time, she was surprised so many had survived.

For those who lay in these cots it was still an uphill battle. Julian looked awful for someone who was improving. None of the others were much better. She wondered what would happen when the Dominion arrived and what little equipment they had was taken. She wondered how many of those around her would be dead.

Lonnie distracted her with a tap on the shoulder. "I don't think he's going to wake up for a while," she said quietly. "Would you like to have a talk? I'm on break."

Jadzia was curious, and very grateful to escape the room with its sense of foreboding. She followed Lonnie out to a small table in a relatively secluded spot. "How is he doing, really?"

Lonnie thought for a minute before answering. "He's alive, and if we can keep the infection down he'll eventually recover. It's going to be a long haul, though."

"He looks pretty bad."

"You didn't see him last week. He looks a lot better than he did. Um, what I wanted to ask you about was a letter. Do you know if he got one?"

"Mine was in with the clothes. I don't think anyone's opened his yet."

"His friend Miles has his things. If you could bring it I'll help him with his reply."

Jadzia nodded, looking back towards the hospital with its cloud of death. "I'll get him to bring it." She wanted to run back to her room and try to forget this place.

"I'll make sure he gets the rest of his soup," said Lonnie. Jadzia could tell she knew how hard it was to be in that room, and expected her to be stronger.

But the memory of that chill and the sudden shift in time was still too strong. She'd sat by her friend and fed him soup, but none of it was real.

In that room she was walking on a grave. It wasn't his. She knew many there might die, but it wasn't theirs either. She had the uncanny feeling that the grave belonged to her.

It wasn't time, but it would come. She drew away from the place, from the woman standing beside her, and the belief that she was doomed.

"I have to go," she said calmly. The nurse eyed her but said nothing. She made her way out a side door, then around the small hill. Walking down the pathway she felt nothing. She would someday return, but not now.

There were things to do. She had to write a letter to Worf and say goodbye. She thought to herself that maybe it might be a little easier now.

o0o

Sisko watched with the same neutral expression he had worn since the transition team had arrived, but beneath it, where only he knew, he marveled at the adaptability of people. They had been here less than a month, stuck mostly in tents and surrounded by mud, but there was already a sense of belonging. Those obliged to move their tents since building supplies would soon be covering their spot looked annoyed. Those who were in the unused areas were almost smug.

The supplies materialized over the site in bunches. Vance came up beside him and said nothing for a few minutes. "It sure looks like a lot."

"Or not much, if you consider," replied Sisko.

Vance stared grimly at the messy scattering of people and tents and supplies. "Maybe we'll be lucky," he said.

Something in the tone alarmed Sisko. He didn't expect Vance to work with him any longer than he had to, but hoped he wouldn't make things worse. Now Sisko wasn't so sure about that.

"At least we'll have something to do when we're building," said Sisko carefully, watching Vance.

"Um, yeah," he muttered. Then a look crossed his eyes, one of intense bitterness but something else-revenge. "I'm sure we'll find other things to do after that," he finished

Vance wandered away but Sisko kept watching him. He was sure the Dominion would find uses for all these people. He just hoped that Vance's ideas weren't as dangerous as he assumed.

He remembered all the reports he'd read about the Dominion, especially Bashir's about that planet that had rebelled. He was almost certain that They wouldn't wait a generation to punish their captives now. He'd brought these people here. Somehow, even if they came to hate him, he'd keep them alive.

o0o

Jadzia had ask Miles about the letter, and he'd given it to her to deliver. He was busy with something and she didn't want to explain why she could not go back. But she walked up the pathway feeling nothing, and stood at the door waiting for Lonnie.

The nurse arrived shortly there after. Jadzia handed her the letter without comment. "Was this all?" asked Lonnie.

"Yes. We looked through everything." She could smell the place. It was turning her stomach the longer she stood here. Somehow, even Dax was curling around in a tight ball. If Jadzia died here, what would happen to Dax?

She wished she'd sent someone else. The shield she wore was breaking in the face of the foreboding mist she could feel gathering around her. She didn't want the nurse to see her panic, but nearly just walked away.

She didn't want anyone to notice. So she stood while Lonnie checked the header on the letter. She was so cold, almost shivering.

Lonnie must have seen. She was worried. "Look, is something wrong? You almost look like you're sick."

"I'm fine. I need to write a letter." She kept her tone calm while the cold came closer and the need to run grew more intense.

"I'll read it to him."

Jadzia nodded, trying not to hurry. "He'd probably rather not have me see it anyway," she said.

"I've done my letters," explained the nurse. "It's hard. Take your time."

Then Lonnie reached out and took her hand. A curious quiet overcame her mind. Darkness filled her sight. But there was a calm about the moment, too.

She turned and looked at the woman. She was young and scared, but there was strength there she didn't even suspect. She cared about Julian. She'd be there for him.

"I know. I will." Jadzia was almost reluctant to let go. An unspoken task was passed from one to the other.

"Take care of yourself," said Lonnie, still caught in the moment. "Please. He cares about you."

Jadzia nodded. But now it was time to go. She needed to put into words what she could not say to anyone but herself. Then she'd find a way to tell Worf how much he mattered.

She touched Lonnie's hand, just once, a quick brush of fingers in answer. Then, she walked away, the mask in place again.

She could not ever go back there, not until there was nothing left but that. She closed her door and sat on her cot, Worf's letter in hand, suddenly missing him terribly. She could not write. All she could do was watch as he came near and took her hand.

"Fight for us," she told him. "Fight for those dead and dying and lost."

She could feel his strong hands as he rolled her onto the bed, and he slid near.

'I will,' she heard him say as if from a distance. 'For you, for all of you,' he declared.

She slipped the blanket over her, over both of them as he came so near she could smell him next to her. The letter dropped to the floor as she surrendered to the exhaustion and slept in the comfort of his arms.

o0o

Bashir was a little better, and that evening he was awake. He clearly hoped his friend would come back, but Lonnie could tell the woman would not return. She'd looked so pale that day, almost as if she were going to pass out. Lonnie had tried to get her to talk, but settled for a quiet touch.

Or, it was supposed to be something like that. She still hadn't sorted out all the emotions that had come over her when the Trill had looked her in the eyes. But somehow Lonnie knew there was a connection there. She thought it might not be a happy one from the way the woman had nearly run away.

She'd reread her own letters after going off-shift, and then came back to help him with his own. His vision was blurry and often double from the drugs, and someone would have to read his parents' letters to him.

The two letters were sent together, one following the other, but clearly written separately. She decided not to ask any details. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, as she finished the last one from his father.

"Write something for me. Just don't tell them about my leg. They won't have any way to know how it comes out."

"I'll remember that. But this has to be from you. I'm just recording it." For a moment she wondered if she could ever share her second letter with him, if he'd ever be ready. "Do you want to know what I said to my parents?"

"Sure."

"I said I loved them and would always love them even if I couldn't see them."

He seemed to be thinking of something else, and she waited.

"No," he said slowly. "Tell them I forgive them. Tell them I love them and will miss them. Tell them, thank you for their sacrifice."

She recorded his words, confused. "Anything more?" she asked.

"Tell them that I am their son."

It sounded odd to Lonnie, but it could be his condition affecting his state of mind. She read it back to him to make sure it was as he wanted. He just nodded.

He was very sleepy. She thought his parents should know a little more, so added a few more lines from herself. He was ill, she said. But he would be fine. He was almost recovered already.

They wouldn't know anyway. But the whole abrupt tone of his own words would be little comfort.

She finished off his letter. He reached out for her hand and she realized how warm he was. She touched his forehead and it was too hot.

"I'll drop this off in the basket," she told him, excusing herself. She made a quick trip past the basket and dropped in the letter, but was much more intent on getting word to Willy.

The fever was back. It was probably some spot of infection they'd missed, and she only hoped that her lines on the letter were only written prematurely.

o0o

Sisko sat in the solitude of his tent, now resting on damp dirt, and finished his letter to Jake. He had already finished the one to his father. He struggled with the words that would say goodbye to his son, perhaps forever.

He was disappointed that there was no letter from Jake. But his father had said he'd save the one he would write when he got home. Jake was on assignment for the news service. The people from Starfleet had missed him by a day. Sisko told himself that he should be safely home by now. The war was effectively over. Dad would save it for him to read if he was delayed.

He had to believe that that was true. He couldn't let the questions take over which still made him wonder. Why couldn't Jake be contacted *on* this assignment, given the circumstances? Was he embedded with some unit? Was the war as over as everyone said?

None of the words that came to mind sounded right. Finally, staring at the blank space, he just said that he loved him. Perhaps, somehow they could write later on, when things got settled. But he could not say good bye.

He sealed it and put it with a few other things he had to drop off in the office. He tried to push away the thought but it still nagged at him that there had been no letter. Things must have been much worse than anyone would say if it had been impossible to ask Jake for a subspace transmission. What else had they lied about?

He wished he had the gift of words that Jake had, and perhaps could have found a way to say all that was left unsaid because it couldn't be translated into language. If Jake had written, he'd cherish every word for the rest of his life. But all he had were the mementos of the time before.

He had the baseball card saved in a protective box, and no indication of what it was. He pulled it out, holding it in his hands, letting the memories fill his mind of things he would never be able to say to his lost son.

Like the others the task of saying goodbye was proving something that words were not quite enough to do. He slipped the letters in his pocket, the other things in their file, and stood. The walls of the makeshift office were too close and damp and dark. He needed to see the faces of his people again, and be reminded of the strength he saw in them.

Maybe it would make up a little for Jake.

o0o

James sat on his bed, staring at the words he had written. The padd said, "I will never see you again," and he had stopped there. The numbness that had come over him seemed to drive all the words out of his mind. He had never been all that good at words. Pictures, and swirls of color were his forte. He stared at the words as if they were a death sentence.

For the first time, it had completely sunk in that he would not go home, nor ever see his family again. He would not spend his seventeenth birthday in the greenery of the park, with all of his family. He would never be able to show his grandfather the beautiful pictures that floated in his mind, impatient to get them out. He didn't even know how he would make them. His precious box of art supplies would not paint all the images in his mind that he needed to express. He stared at the padd wishing he could erase the thoughts in his head as easily as the words.

Ever since they had received official word that they were being sacrificed, he had been in a kind of fog. He did the things that needed to be done, rose in the morning and went to sleep at night as always, and spent his spare time alone, committing to a sketchpad the images in his head that would some day come to life in the bright colors he saw in dreams. He knew what Vance and

Sisko had said, but could not believe it because if he did his life was over. This could not be home. It had never been home, and time would never change that.

But when he had written those words, he discovered he could not deny them. He was dead and no one knew it yet. The Padd lay in his hand and no words came. He wanted to say something, to give them some token, but his mind had gone blank. Words did not exist to express the emptiness within him.

He abandoned the Padds. He took his sketchpad and began to draw. He couldn't see the pictures in his head either, but a vision of the tree that had stood guard on his grandmother's house grew until he was standing underneath it, smelling the light perfume of its flowers, feeling the light breeze that always stirred its leaves. He began to draw, quick strokes of his pen that were fraught with emotion. He had never drawn so well and quickly before. He could not rest until it was done. The ink would have to be dry before he placed it in the box. When the last detail was complete, he lovingly wrote, in his best script, "To My Family" at the top, and carefully laid it flat to dry.

He checked the time. Two hours would be enough for the ink to set. He hated to fold it, but that was the only way he could put it in the container with the Padds.

Calmly, he sat down on the bed and composed a short letter for each of them. The words didn't matter. What mattered was drying on the shelf. He finished the last of them and fitted the Padds back in the box with his name. He had found a slightly larger one so his picture would fit as well. Folding it carefully, with the minimum of bends, he slipped it into the box and closed the lid. Writing his name on the top, he said goodbye to all he cared about and left for breakfast. On the way he put it with the others, drifting in his own dark place.

o0o

Miles stared at the letter, the hardest one he had to write. Keiko's parents deserved to know something of what had come of their daughter, but he did not know what to say. He couldn't say they were alive or dead. He could not tell them later if he did come to know. All he could do was promise, with as much effort as they would allow him, to find them. And Kira had been with them.

She had carried his son, and would protect them. If she could she would find a way to save them.

He wrote what he knew. It wasn't much, and he could not make promises, but he would not have them living a lie. He had had quite enough of lies and half-truths in the last month. He had been as honest with his own family. The letters were done. He stared at the Padds, wishing he could write one other, to Keiko and his children. If fate separated them forever at least he'd like to have the chance to say goodbye.

Someday he might find them. Sometime he might find a way for them to be together. He had chances that others didn't, but right then, none of that mattered. His family was lost as surely as the others. Even if they did manage to survive, even if he found them again they would be the wounded strangers he'd found before on Bajor. Staring at the Padds, he took a sheet of paper and pen. Wounded or not, he wanted them back. Perhaps he could never send the letter, but later, when he'd forgotten what the moment was like, he could remember.

o0o

Jadzia woke a while later, finding the letter on the ground. She rescued it and wrapped herself in a blanket, rereading the letter he'd written.

She was grateful he'd been able to be realistic. It made it possible to be true to his feelings. Somehow, she had to do the same.

She picked up the Padd left for her letter. She almost began by telling him of the hospital, but it wouldn't matter. She knew he would grieve for her if she lived or died.

"I do not know how long any of us will live," she said. "But if it isn't a long time every day I live will be with thoughts of you."

It said what she must say to him, but not too much.

She reread the second half of his letter. It was so beautiful. She wasn't as good with words as some of her hosts had been. She called on all she'd been for help.

The words were vivid, full of the grief she let free, and yet this was the woman he loved.

But there was another thing that must be said. She wondered how many of those who'd sent families home and were now alone had the nerve to put the finality of it into words.

"Goodbye. I will not hold you to our promise to wed. There is no future in that. Do not deprive yourself of the comfort another can bring in my memory. Instead, live. Find someone who can share your days and nights. Keep my memory close, and remember, but do not cease to live out of your grief."

She would need no one herself. She would not die alone but live that way. Worf was free. He had more options in his life than hers. She did not want him to be alone because she chose to. She picked up the Padd and added, "I cannot say for myself, but here things will be hard. If it happens that someone can make life less hard I claim the right to take that path. I will live in more comfort should I believe that you will do the same."

She knew she would never see Worf again. She would be dead before that chance ever came. But she reread the words that would set him free to live, and it didn't matter so much that she would be the sacrifice.

o0o

The runabout was ready to leave. For a few days they would be alone, then the world would fall into a darkness none could really imagine.

The last thing loaded was the letters they had written, trying to say all that they ever could in a few words. Stanley Garnet could not take them home, but he had done every possible thing to help, far beyond the defined limits of his job. As the runabout lifted off, watched by a large silent crowd, the thoughtfulness of Stanley Garnet was on their mind, not the politics of Federation survival. It was fitting that in the end they remembered the best as the last trace of home vanished from sight in the clear skies of Cyrus 3.

o0o

Miles pushed the image from his mind, the departure of the runabout their last connection with the Federation, and the end of a tiny hope that somehow things might change. Now they were on their own. People stayed longer than they had to, as if the runabout might come back. But eventually everyone there to watch had drifted off to the places they called home now, and an uneasy quiet settled over the two little villages that would become one.

For Miles, it was a hard moment. Keiko and his family were trapped far away, lost to him now. Or . . . were they? If the Dominion controlled both Cyrus and Bajor, somehow he might get them back. Some of his people had sent their families back to Earth and for them it was the end. But Miles found a little secret solace in the one thing he shared with the family he missed.

He was relieved that Sisko had things for his people to do. Miles had been sent to do a quick survey of the remaining rations, and had been urged to take James along to help. The boy followed him, silent and lost, and had done everything Miles had asked but hardly noticed any of it.

Miles watched as he recorded the count of rations, and wondered how hard it must be to have the only thing that mattered to you destroyed and denied. Now there was a line that could not be crossed, and James was on the wrong side. He'd lost more than most and for a moment Miles almost felt lucky.

They were half-way through the crates when they discovered one that did not contain rations. It was only half full, but inside were spare parts, just bits and pieces, but it would be confiscated. It was probably something dismantled off the station. Apparently Julian had sent out people to take apart half of the Promenade.

Miles had personal orders from Sisko that there was to be no contraband in the supplies. There should be no reason for suspicion. He knew they should be destroyed, but even as bits of scrap this crate might be of use. Since neither Miles nor James knew where the rumored stash was, it couldn't go there. It couldn't even leave the building because there was no reason for that. But it had to go somewhere.

He might have just hauled it where it could be found and taken, away from the supplies, but even that would have been an impropriety. Sisko had been most plain. There would be no contraband found, and no reason to look further.

Work stopped while they considered what to do. James came out of his fog and was almost the same young man who had been so much help before. Miles had no ideas yet, but suddenly James moved to a corner where a pile of crates stood, and motioned Miles to help move them out of the way.

Not a word was spoken. James hurriedly studied the now empty corner, fishing around the edge. Miles stood back, just watching.

Then James discovered what he'd been looking for, a small covered panel, and pulled it free. Together, they lifted up a segment of the floor to reveal a hidden area underneath.

Miles studied the small area. It was heavily shielded, intended for storage of dangerous or radioactive materials. The shielding was heavy, and would hide what was hidden inside.

Together they dumped everything in the crate inside, then replaced the floor and the small lever. They moved a pile of crates over it again and James held up the survey list.

"What did we count?" he asked out loud.

"I'm not sure. We should have left it all where it all was," said Miles, a little surprised that James was staging the conversation for any potential hidden listeners.

"I guess we start over then," muttered James.

They recounted the crates placed over the stash, then moved more in front. By the time the count was done there was no sign of a hidden compartment and the empty crate was full of the overflow of the others.

Miles pointed at the corner, signaling with his finger to keep silent. James nodded.

Sisko would have been furious, but neither would tell him.

*Someday,* thought Miles as they closed the door, *someday that will matter.* But in the meanwhile, there was much work to do.

o0o

The tent city and all it stood for began to disappear that day. The building supplies were stacked and ready, and one by one the new shelters they would call home were to be assembled. Everyone came to watch, even Vance's people who had nothing else to do. But there wasn't much room, and the crowd, displaced tent dwellers and old residents alike, were sent a safe distance away while the crew worked.

The crew was chosen from those who knew what they were doing. Even so, it took most of the day, in the limited space, to assemble the first small house.

Everyone cheered. It was an odd sound to hear drifting past the tents, thought Sisko. He had taken over Vance's old office. Vance had looked at the piles of paperwork left behind by Garnet and shaken his head, taking a few of his personal things and leaving. Either it would be Sisko's or theirs, but he didn't expect to see Vance again unless it was to retrieve the rest of this things.

The piles of paperwork was for information the Dominion required before any supplies would be shipped.

Vance's help might have been appreciated, but as he worked, Sisko was glad the man had bailed. How could he trust anything he did, especially if he was privy to things not generally known? He would be speaking to a few of those he trusted, and Vance would be watched most carefully.

Sisko did not allow himself to think of what would be done if they found there was reason to suspect. Not yet.

They had been working on the first of the new quarters all day, keeping the crowd occupied. When heard the cheer, he put down his pen and closed his office.

o0o

The shelter was complete, and everyone stood around waiting. A number of tents had been required to move to the damp upper shelf to make room for supplies and work, and most of them were expecting to move that night.

It wouldn't hold them all. Tomorrow there would be another, or perhaps two, but tonight only one family got to move.

Sisko chose to make the decision himself. Later, he might want to ask other's opinion, but this policy would be his. They didn't have time for arguments.

Of the group of families living where the house was built, one had two children. They got the house. The others would move in as soon as the building was done.

They carried their small possessions, including cots and blankets, inside the solid walls and shut the door. Their neighbors watched, and lingered for a time, but eventually moved up the steps hacked out of the hard ground to their tents.

That morning he'd called in Jadzia. She had hardly left her own quarters since they'd last had rations given out. He needed a quick list of how many families they had and especially how many children. He hoped to keep people in the little bunches where they were already living, with the same neighbors. It would be a little less jarring if something stayed the same.

But he needed to know how much there was to build with, and Miles got the pick of available experts to help him with his report. Jadzia had put together a list of those with the proper experience already. But Miles needed to verify that the supplies were inventoried and he'd sent James with him to do it.

Then Dax had turned thoughtful. "Remember there will be a lot more children," she said. "And more families, so keep that in mind when you set up the plan."

She didn't seem to be seeing him and he was concerned. But she was right. He waited, hoping she would respond.

"We'll do both single and family units, we can just put a couple of people in the ones we don't need." *Yet* he only thought.

She had said nothing. But then she'd been like that most of the time. As long as she did her work he could not force her to talk about it. He could not imagine having to put his fears fully to words.

Looking over the assembled audience, watching as the family dragged in their meager possessions, he thought to himself they would need many family quarters. Dax was fading into grief, but most would find someone to share their misery with.

A few hours later, Miles knocked on Sisko's office door. He had his survey already done. Jadzia wasn't finished, but now there was no hurry.

"Looks like we have enough for everybody and then some. Garnet must have made a few suggestions to the supply ship."

"Good," said Sisko, working on a report on supplies. "I need to add that to one of these reports."

Miles surveyed the office, noting a few bare spaces. "What happened to Vance?"

"He's made his choice. He doesn't want to play anymore."

Miles watched, saying nothing, as Sisko scribbled a note on a ruined piece of paper.

"Dinner, tomorrow, my quarters, bring Jadzia."

He nodded. Sisko finished off the scribble with a signature, Ben.

Miles took the paper, taking the pen and adding 'When'.

'Late afternoon,' wrote Sisko, taking it back.

He watched as Miles nodded, then returned the paper.

Vance was up to something. Somehow, he was going to find out what before it brought the Jem'Hadar.

o0o

Willman didn't bother with the doctor face. He was being honest. Bashir was conscious and aware at least. He lay very quiet, listening without saying a word.

"It's not a big infection, but it's deep. It might kill you if we don't get it under control very soon. It's going to go septic if it isn't." He watched as Bashir turned his head away. He didn't need to tell his patient all the details. Bashir knew all about that.

Very quietly, he asked, "Did you miss it?"

Willman replied calmly, "No. It's new. If I had the kind of surgery you and I are used to I could treat it a lot easier, but I don't have that. I'm going to do another procedure tonight. Now I warn you, it's very deep. It's going to hurt more than before. But I don't have any other way to treat it."

Bashir paled a little more. "Chemicals?"

"I'm afraid so. I've got more supplies this time. You'll be knocked out completely."

"And if it doesn't work?"

"Then you won't make it."

He said nothing. But Willman noticed that Lonnie was holding his hand.

"Just . . . do your best."

Within the hour he was put under and they burned a new wound. This time Willman made sure all of the infected tissue was gone. This time Lonnie sat beside him and held Bashir's hand. It was bandaged carefully, and every effort would be made to keep the infection away. But there was no guarantee that he'd live to see if the Dominion wanted him back or not.

end, Legacy, Year 1, Part 1-2, Chapter 7


	9. Part 2Transience Chapter 8

LEGACY

An Alternative History of the Dominion War

Year 1

Part 2 - Transience

Chapter 8

Sisko got his dinner early, giving it great thought. Somehow, it wasn't *real* that the meals he loved to prepare for his guests were so soon to be lost.

Of all that was gone, the dinners would be the most personal loss. Perhaps, he thought, when a crop was planted he might have the chance to play chef again. But he had no idea if he or his meals would still be welcome.

He carried his box into the little inner office where Vance had made a retreat for himself. It was decorated with a small table and several chairs, plus a larger one to lounge in. An empty shelf that had contained Vance's personal things sat by the wall.

Sisko had little to store. But he had taken the baseball card his son had given him from his quarters, centered on the top shelf. Below it, hemmed in with folded papers, his baseball rested.

It was all of a lost life that he had left. He wished he'd had space for more of his things, left on the station, but then so much had been lost when the Borg destroyed the Saratoga. He still held them in his memory, and that would have to do now, as well.

He sat the box on the table, pulling up the larger chair. Sitting, he could not relax. This was not to be a friendly gathering, even if it was intended to look that way.

He pulled open the box his dinner had been stored in and carefully removed it. They were saving everything. The boxes and dishes and utensils had once been recycled, but they wouldn't be able to do that after tomorrow.

He lifted the cover and studied the food. He'd have liked to have make it himself, but some of the things he used did not exist here. The dish had ancient origins on Earth, but he'd revamped it with foods found on the station. Some of the spices were Bajoran. He'd replaced one ingredient with a favorite Ferengi food. There were even traces of Cardassian flavors in the dish.

He'd served it at a dinner not long after he'd accepted being the Emissary. It stood for the fusion of cultures that made up the place he could no longer deny was home. Now, once more before he could never taste it again, he wanted to remember.

Things would be different now. There was still a mix of species and cultures on this new home, but they'd all eat whatever they got. Taking a bite, he could almost forget why he'd called this emergency meeting.

Then there was a light knock on the outer door, and he put down his spoon. Opening the door, he waited until they were inside before closing and locking it from the inside. Both Miles and Jadzia carried the boxes with their own dinners.

"Come on inside," he told them, indicating the small room. "Vance made this his private place and I suppose I've taken it over."

They sat their boxes on the table, pulling up the smaller chairs and sitting. He moved back and closed the door, then locked it from the inside as well. Vance had put the lock in but he appreciated the privacy.

Miles opened his box, pulling out the covered plate and Sisko took the box and added it to his. "I'll miss the replicator," said Miles, taking the cover off the plate.

Sisko was a little surprised. He knew the culinary tastes of his top staff well. If he was going to invite them to dinners, he wanted them to like the food. O'Brien's taste was pretty basic, and it was Keiko who made the sort of dinner he'd chosen. He never pick it on his own, and Sisko suspected he didn't like it all that much. But tonight, one last time, he was remembering his wife.

"You'll miss it for more than dinner," said Jadzia. But then, it didn't sound like her. It was almost as if Curzon had replaced her.

The food she brought was more to his taste, as well. He watched her as she silently ate, wondering if she was letting Curzon cope while she mourned.

Sometimes it would be useful to have more than one self to call on, he thought.

Miles was nibbling at his dinner. Sisko was hungry, and decided to wait for the short discussion he planned. The three ate, concentrating on food and memories. Jadzia finished first, and Sisko next. Miles was still taking his time.

But he'd have to eat while they talked. Sisko wanted this done tonight, and didn't have time to dawdle.

"I wanted to remember my dinners, but I have other reasons for asking you here," he said.

"We guessed," said Jadzia. There was a cynical edge to her voice he recognized.

Miles kept eating but was paying attention.

"I'm worried about Vance. He hinted about some plan he had to hide some of his things. I don't know where, but I don't trust him. I need a survey of the supplies in their warehouse tonight, with detailed descriptions of what's there. He left records here, so I can find an original list of what he had. We have to know if he hid anything."

Dax stacked her plate on top of his, sitting them in her box. He moved them off the table to the collected pile. "I'd like to have an official reason or he might get wary and move it if he does."

"Oh, I do. I need a complete list for one of my reports. So we have a bonafide excuse. The thing is, I need someone from his staff to verify what's there."

Miles was almost done and put down his fork. "Rafferson has been persona non grata with some of them. I bet he'd help. The building's locked, too. I'll need one of Vance's personal staff to unlock it."

"Finish your food and find someone. Tell them I have to have the information *now* or the ceremony gets delayed. Not Vance, though. Get Rafferson, too. Keep an eye on how they react. I'll get the list of what should be there before you get back."

Miles nodded, eating the rest quickly. He stood, pointing at the door. Sisko took the key and unlocked it. "It might take some time," he said.

"Fine, I'll be here."

"What about the ceremony?" asked Dax.

"Just get the list. I'll check afterwards." He stared at the outer door, wondering what would come of this place. "I'll let Willman know that I have some work to finish before we start. There are lights."

Miles nodded, and fled. Sisko guessed he was uncomfortable with the memories. Jadzia was staring at the table. She was fingering the ring now, her whole demeanor changed. "What if he did hide things?" she asked, her face grim. "We can't do anything about it."

"I'm sure they know what's supposed to be there. If it isn't we'll know. It will fall on Vance to explain if it comes to that."

"They'd execute him," said Curzon.

"Probably," said Sisko grimly. "But it might keep them from doing more." He watched Dax and saw the Old Man, her shield against reality. "It's our job to save these people from whatever we can. If Vance doesn't understand that, it has to be his responsibility to answer for it."

"They won't buy it," Curzon replied.

"Maybe not, but we have to try."

Sisko watched as she went back to playing with the ring. It was so hard to see her like this, but at least she had Curzon to keep her from giving up. He was worried about some of the people out there who didn't. If they had nothing to lose, they might not consider that others did.

He'd learned that from Kira. Sometimes the Resistance had been as hated as the Cardassians. Sometimes the greatest danger to the Resistance had been those they were trying to save.

It was strange, he thought, to be one of the villagers whose crops had been burned so the Cardies couldn't take them.

Dax sat quietly, staring at the ring. Curzon had had his say and was gone. "I'd like to go, Benjamin. I'd like to have some time alone."

"Certainly. You might get other invitations from Ben. Are you willing to come?" He had to know if she could live with the secrets they might discover.

"Of course. When did I ever turn down dinner?" Curzon smiled with Jadzia's face. Then he left and she stared at her ring. "I'll come," she said, but this time it was Jadzia.

"Would you tell Willman that I have some things to do before the ceremony?" he asked.

She shivered. Her face grew pale. For an instant, Jadzia was staring at something terrible before Curzon replaced her. "Not Jadzia," he said. "But I'll go."

Dax picked up Miles dinner and added the things to the box, picking up the crate it was in. "I might as well take these back, too. We'd like to keep them washed."

Sisko watched as his oldest friend walked out of the room, guarding his most recent. Would others notice that Dax was not herself? Would they care?

He picked up the baseball, settling in his big chair. He would get the reports to compare later. But then he wanted to remember Curzon, and counted all of them lucky that he'd once shared Dax.

o0o

The next day the Dominion would come, and they would take the tissue regenerator away. He stood over his fellow doctor wondering what was best to do.

The new bout of infection had exposed a whole new area of raw skin. Bashir had gone unconscious this time, the pain had been so bad, even when he was heavily sedated. He didn't even move.

They had managed to get the infection again, but the leg looked terrible. Willman didn't want to consider how painful it was. Half of what had begun to heal was raw. It was a very major setback.

Willman hoped fervently that they had gotten all the infection. If not, there wouldn't be too many more options. They had already damaged the nerves and muscles permanently.

But the tissue regenerator could make it better. Not the nerves, really, or the muscle control, but the raw skin could be healed. It would vastly help the pain and the tendency to infect. This was the last chance.

But he hesitated. They weren't going to pay a lot of attention to a nearly-comatose patient with his leg raw. They well might note one near recovery. Bashir needed to be as unnoticed as possible.

He turned off the device. He silently apologized to his patient, but walked away.

It was a doctor's duty to do no harm to his patients. If it saved Bashir's life, doing less might be the only way to fulfill his oath.

o0o

Sisko was getting impatient. He'd found the inventory of Vance's machines and other supplies, complete with part numbers. They could match them perfectly. Now he needed the list, only hoping O'Brien had gotten the numbers.

He didn't have to ask if he'd come to future dinners. He could tell from the look in his eyes that the Chief would cooperate.

There was a quick tap on the door. He opened it and Miles sauntered inside.

"They weren't too happy, but they showed me everything. I even checked the stores. It's all here."

"What about Rafferson?" asked Sisko.

"He kept an eye on them. It was odd. But they didn't like it much."

"He doesn't trust them." Sisko didn't either, but at least he could account for all that was supposed to be there.

He took the paper. It was still odd to deal with pieces of paper, but not so strange as it had been at first. With relief, he noticed that full part numbers were recorded.

But there were a lot of things. It would take time to cross-check them.

"Jadzia said Willman wanted to know when to get his people to the square."

"We'll have to do this after. Would you help?"

Miles stared at the door. "It would be safer that way, with the numbers to compare," he muttered. "I'd rather not sit in that tent tonight." Then he paused, and looked at Sisko with curiosity. "Is Dax . . . . ?"

"I don't know," sighed Sisko, remembering the way she'd shivered at the mention of the hospital. "But maybe we should be glad that Curzon is around."

Miles stared ahead. "Yeah, maybe." Then he held out his hand, caressing the ring he wore.

"Look, I'll let Willman and the others know we're ready."

"Thank you, Chief."

Miles nodded, and left. Sisko sat in his office, now fully his, wishing there was some way to go back in time and take everyone away from here.

But there wasn't. He had his best clothes ready and retired to his little office to become the Emissary, he hoped not for the last time.

o0o

The sun was setting as they gathered in the center of the original settlement, the only place large enough to hold them all. The only people missing were those too sick to attend, and minimal staff to tend to them. This was their moment, the last meeting they would hold as free people.

It had been Dr. Willman's idea. It was a time to mourn the end of their world, with no one to interfere. It was a simple affair, any person wishing to speak simply coming forward. There were tears shed. Tomorrow would bring the unknown. Today they would say goodbye to all that was familiar.

It was opened by a reading of a poem, first in Bajoran and then his translation into Standard by the noted Bajoran poet Thay Arvel, one he had never published. A hush came over the crowd, even those who at first did not understand the words in the first recitation. His apology that the translation was not as he wished it to be was forgotten in the spell. His wife Dorothy, a noted folklorist, followed with her own words, reminding them all that if they were of Bajor or Earth or some other place, they belonged to this one now. There would be grief and sadness and accommodation but they must never allow themselves to lose hope, be it of a sunny day after rain or a moment of beauty or someone to share this life with. That when hope was lost, when beauty was given up, all else was as well.

A great quiet came over the square as she and her husband stepped down from the stage. For a few moments nobody moved. Then slowly, others stood to be recognized and added their words.

Stanley Garnet was thanked, in absentia, for his caring. His belief that there was no rescue to come had helped in its own way as well.

From now on it was up to them to survive.

Lonnie listened to them all, from the Bajoran woman who had lost most of her children to the Cardassians but proclaimed herself forever a free woman because she would not allow them to own her, to Rafferson, who reminded them all that they were no longer two groups but they had become one. A few condemned the Federation for the betrayal and others called on everyone to touch another. The Bajoran priest made an invocation to the Prophets and asked for their aide and blessings. She was surprised by the number of replies from the audience.

But now it was drawing near to the end, and she pulled out her letter. Slowly, she stepped forward and waited her turn. She didn't plan it that way, but was the last to speak.

She still wasn't certain that she should read the letter. But he hadn't addressed it just to her, but to all those lost behind the lines. It wouldn't mean much to some, but perhaps it might help a few that someone understood what they were to be and what their own losses could give others. It was only fitting that she share it.

Nervously, she walked forward and took the podium. The microphone was too high, and she fumbled at it. Someone came and fixed it for her. She began in a shaky voice, gathering strength as she went, "Several days ago I found a letter written to me from an old friend, but it was not to myself alone, but to all of us in this place and all the other places like this. I now read it in full." She began to read. As she reached the end people began to stand in silent support. She finished, "I don't know what they will demand of you but I know it will be hard. Try to remember that at least one of us is grateful to you and will not forget. Feel free to share this letter with any others you wish. To all of you, goodbye."

She began to cry. Willy put his arm around her, looking at the standing crowd.

"Thank you," he said. "Now we should all make our private peace."

o0o

It hadn't taken long to verify that the warehouse had contained what it was supposed to. Miles had been forced back to his tent, after all. He sat on his cot, looking at the extra bag he had brought for his wife and children. He finished rereading the letters sent to them, and to him, and the tears fell. He held the new toy he had gotten for Kirayoshi, a toy the child would never see. He needed to mourn, but he could not since that is for the dead. He believed they were alive. He could not stand to believe anything else.

He took out the toys he had brought for his children. He knew that they would not play with them. Miles was a realist. He still loved his wife and children but didn't expect to see them in the immediate future. Perhaps not ever, he thought, but that was too painful. Holding the toys and her favorite dress, he wondered what his wife was doing lost so far away from him.

o0o

Keiko O'Brien forced her legs to move despite the exhaustion and pain. After a short rest, they continued the march deep into Bajor's jagged mountains and plains, now two weeks since it began. Kira had left a few days before, going on to her own destination. The new guide, scared and impatient, kept them moving and to his timetable.

The children were being carried. She had Yoshi in a sling where he could be close to her, and the guide carried Molly. She couldn't keep up and Keiko's only comfort was that she could rest during this torment.

Some of the places they passed through were ugly, torn apart by the Cardassians long before. Others were too distant and unimportant then, and their beauty might have been an inspiration. But it was getting cold at night, and there was neither time nor energy to care.

Yoshi had not minded the closeness, but he was cranky now. The sling helped, letting him bounce and sway as she walked, but he wanted to stop and explore the rocks and trees. He'd started to fuss, and she'd again had to give him some of the fruit. He'd slept after that. But maybe he'd live this way.

It was Molly who broke her mother's heart. Molly had nearly grown up on the station or Bajor. She had learned to watch and listen from the children she played with, and had reacted to her mother's hurried instructions to pack something and go with a somber look she hadn't lost in the time since. Until the hurried walk she'd tried to keep up on her own. She'd hiked along as best she could, never complaining, never looking back. Keiko wondered if the exuberant child she had known would ever return.

But most of all, Keiko was terrified of being found. She had heard that all foreigners were being detained. They had heard of the bomb from Kira, and the suspicious evacuation of the station. Most of the rest they heard was wild rumor. She tried to believe that somehow it would turn out, that they would at least be allowed to leave, but nothing else supported that belief.

They traveled at night. Just before dawn they would retreat to some hidden space their guide seemed to know about, and set up their small camp. After a meager meal, they would sleep until dark, Keiko and the guide alternating watches while the children slept. And then, at dusk, they would have the second small meal and be up again, to travel another day. It had gone on long enough, now, that it was almost routine.

o0o

The day the old world ended began very early for most of them. The replicators were very busy as people tried to get just one more meal before the machines were taken away. It was breakfast time, but they didn't have breakfast. They dined on fancy dinner dishes, or exotic alien foods, or rich deserts. These were the kinds of moments that should be remembered for a lifetime, but they would be forever tainted by the desperation of the moment to hold onto something.

o0o

Sisko stared at the screen, wondering when the end would come. He'd spent most of the morning sitting in the Communications room, and was almost hoping the Dominion message would come soon. How could such a small passing of time take so long?

Vance had taken his time arriving. Perhaps he had abandoned leadership among their own, but the Dominion considered him a representative for his people, and he was required to be there. Sisko didn't look forward to the company, but it would be much worse if Vance didn't come at all.

But Vance brought a surprise, carrying several boxes with him, and handed one to Sisko.

He opened it carefully. There was a full platter of jambalaya and the proper drink. He'd planned to pick it up himself that morning, but wasn't really hungry. Still, he'd not taste this again for a long time.

He thanked Vance for the thought, and unpacked the food.

Minutes passed, turning into an hour while they enjoyed their last meal.

The food made conversation unnecessary. But it was done and neither could go to the replicator for more. The dishes were stored in the boxes, and they sat together watching the silent screen, dreading and anticipating the contact.

Finally, Vance broke the silence. He was quiet and reserved, and Sisko hoped he had considered the risk he might be playing with. But he sounded resigned when he ask, softly, "Do you think anyone got any sleep?"

Sisko yawned. "I didn't. Maybe an hour or two, but not much more. Damned tent is all wet. It's seeping up from the ground."

Vance shook his head. "I'd think you'd have taken a house for yourself by now."

Sisko was a little surprised at the assumption. "We did a list. Families get priority, more kids, higher priority."

"They get sick faster," said Vance, as if reliving a memory.

They sat quietly, the stark reminder of the future leaving them with nothing more to say.

o0o

Lonnie had no time to think of the coming invader. Lying on his cot, her patient was dying. He had been born during the Cardassian occupation, and lived his twenty-seven years in refugee camps and hidden resistance cells. But for a short summer he'd had a taste of freedom, and been trained as an engineer and joined Miles O'Brien's crew on DS9. But that, and his future, ended when he'd been trapped behind a collapsed wall after the Antelope crashed.

Somehow, Willman had pulled him through, and they had expected him to recover. But three days before he started to bleed. There hadn't been much of a chance, but Willman had done all he could. But he needed a base hospital, and there was nothing more that could be done. Bleeding slowly, he was weakening by the hour. They moved him to the small bay where the dying were given some privacy. He would not see the evening. Lonnie sat, keeping him comfortable, and speaking softly to his feverish mumbles. She did not allow herself to think this was the day their freedom would end, but waited for his passing to be near.

No matter, she would not let him die alone.

Sitting in the dimly lit bay, his quiet breathing slowing, her thoughts strayed to the other doctor, still only barely conscious and very weak. He had come very close to this room the day before. The second chemical treatment had left him in shock, and he had almost not pulled through. He had a reasonable chance of surviving now, but he faced a very slow recovery. Another infection was possible, of course, but Willy was taking extreme care to prevent that now. All their other options were over.

The dying man stirred, moving his head around, almost speaking. He wouldn't last long, she thought. She pushed the buzzer that signaled the Bajoran's end, and a young woman entered to take her place, holding some sort of Bajoran religious items.

Lonnie passed through the curtain that separated the living from the dying. She could not quite separate them at that moment, aware of how little it would take to make them all one.

She passed by Bashir's bed on her way to the station, and noticed him moving a little. He was awake, then. She told the duty nurse she would be back and went to get him another bowl of soup.

o0o

The group near the replicators had grown in size. No one quite knew where to go or what to do, so after eating their fill they stayed. It was the largest open area in the settlement, and they waited together in the comfort of shared fear, nobody wanting to be alone.

Lonnie got herself a meal and a bowl of broth for her patient. She looked at the crowd, lost in their own misery, and hurried back to the certainty of her job.

When the Dominion came to their world she was feeding Bashir his soup, and if he was gone when it was done, at least she had given him some comfort.

o0o

It took an eternity, but the screen suddenly lit with an unfamiliar pattern.

Sisko looked at Vance. Both took a deep breath, and Sisko initiated the contact.

The face of a Vorta filled the screen. "Captain Sisko and Director Vance. I have been looking forward to meeting you."

The voice was too smooth, almost as if he they had been introduced by a mutual acquaintance. He wasn't smiling, but the sudden sharp jolt of their new reality was distant. With his rather bland dress, at least for a Vorta, and the calmness in his manner it could have been an incidental business discussion, not the end of life as they had known it.

Sisko was almost tempted to remind him that he wasn't a captain anymore.

Vance stiffened, a small look of horror in his eyes. Sisko hoped the Vorta had not noticed. But then he surprised Sisko by taking the lead.

"We have been awaiting your arrival, Sir. Will you need a place to meet?"

Sisko dared not show the surprise, but it was as if Vance had somehow become an entirely different person.

The Vorta smiled one of those diplomatic smiles Sisko had seen before and was sure he'd grow to despise. "I would like a private meeting between myself and the two of you before we proceed with other matters. Perhaps the office you occupy now."

Without warning, four armed Jem'Hadar and the Vorta materialized in the small room. Sisko and Vance stood, allowing themselves to be scanned for weapons. After satisfying themselves that the two men were unarmed, the Jem'Hadar were ordered to leave.

They pushed open the door and stomped out. It shut with a clang.

Sisko and Vance stood, wondering what came next. The Vorta approached with a hand extended.

"My name is Glebaroun, and I'm to be the administrator of this territory. Thus, both of you will deal with myself in matters relating to this colony."

They shook his hand. He did not seem to react to the somewhat stunned nature of their handshakes. He motioned them to sit, and they arranged themselves around the small table.

Glebaroun proceeded to talk as if it was a business meeting. "I do hope that we all understand each other. We have no desire for misunderstandings. We have rules which apply to all colonies of this sort, some of which you have been introduced to already. Our continued good relations depend on your continuing to obey these rules, in which case you will receive the shipments to which you are entitled, and that is the only contact which will be necessary, barring emergencies, of course. Do you have any questions?"

"Not at this time," said Sisko, quietly.

"I am not comfortable with the splitting of authority between you, but unless there is a problem I will not interfere. I *do* hope that there are no problems. I trust we are in agreement."

Both Vance and Sisko nodded. Vance hesitated a moment and added, "I'll defer to Mr. Sisko but my people are not yet that familiar with him."

Glebaroun studied him. "I'm certain they will adjust, " he said, a mild rebuke in the tone. He looked directly at Vance, and the former director looked at the table. Apparently satisfied, the Vorta continued. "As I said, you're free to arrange whatever works for the two of you. There are some policies which I want you to understand," said the Vorta.

Vance and Sisko listened.

o0o

While Glebaroun played the diplomat with Vance and Sisko, the Jem'Hadar had already made their presence known. The crowd by the replicator had retreated back into the square when armed Jem'Hadar had beamed into the settlement in substantial numbers. Any others they found as they methodically searched tents and buildings were being herded towards the square. Slowly, the small area filled with people, trying very hard not to stare at the Jem'Hadar, and trying even harder not to look afraid of them. The original residents had never seen the Dominion soldiers, but had heard enough from the others that they gave them room and didn't argue.

Sisko had made sure every single person was warned not to resist them. All weapons had already been collected in the early days of their arrival, after tempers had nearly turned deadly, and most of the people on Cyrus had already known of what they were capable of.

While Glebaroun continued his discussion with Sisko and Vance, the population of Cyrus, except for those confined to the hospital, were stored together in the square. The Jem'Hadar searched and confiscated. Each tent and quarters was roughly examined, and when banned items were found, they were taken. Personal possessions were scattered, mementos were removed, an immense feeling of violation awaiting them when the inhabitants returned.

But for now, they sat, holding children and staying close. They did not look at the monstrous soldiers, nor did they make a sound. After all the waiting, now the time had come and not even those who had been the most angry or daring were willing to let it show. All they wanted was for the ordeal to be over.

o0o

The day of the clothing exchange someone had realized that the Padds with the last letters Garnet had so kindly brought would be taken along with the last words of so many who had died on the Antelope. The third, non-food replicator had been used, almost non-stop, to save the contents of those and other collections of words not yet copied by then. The library on the computer had been copied to print. Willman's notes had been printed in triplicate. The Dominion squads were interested in the Padds themselves, and they passed by the stored books and sheets of blank paper and writing implements. It was one of the few things left completely untouched.

o0o

When they came to the hospital, Lonnie had just finished feeding Bashir his meal, and moved away from him. She stood with the nurses, their quiet talk, pretending to study the patients charts now silenced. When the staff was herded into the small front reception area and ordered to sit she did as told.

They picked two nurses to return to the patients after scanning them for contraband and weapons, and Lonnie watched as a couple of the people from the station followed between guards back into the wards.

They were searching the room. She could hear their heavy clomps on the floor. She sat still, keeping her eyes down and watching her feet. Bashir had warned her about that. The animal-like creatures didn't like to be challenged. They would punish those who showed a hint of defiance. There were two guards left in the small room, each armed with a large gun and a sharp bayonet. She studied the tiles with great concentration.

She'd had a dream–or nightmare, she did not know which applied better-somehow imagining she'd be the one that stood with great dignity and took her time. She was a little ashamed that with the enemy standing before her, she did exactly as she was told.

At least the Bajoran engineer had died an hour before they beamed in. He got to die in freedom.

There were noises of things being moved about inside. She tried very hard to think of something other than Bashir being dragged out the door. Or would they simply beam him away? And some of the patients were in delicate condition. How would they react to having enemy soldiers next to their beds? Would they, in their nightmares fight being touched? Would the soldiers just kill them or take them away?

She went back to the patterns of the tiles. She traced the lines, now scuffed here and there from wear, and tried to shut out the sounds. But just the same, she listened. Balancing between the dark unknown and the comfort of the familiar, she waited for the eternity to end.

o0o

There were three Jem'Hadar, each holding a scanning device. They were examining each patient in turn, looking for contraband.

Bashir was awake. But he kept his eyes closed and lay still, sensing their presence over the bed. He was very afraid, but did not let it show. He heard the whirl of the device pass over him and for a moment was certain they were going to take him, but instead he heard the thumps of their feet moving down the line of patients. He continued to lie perfectly still, trying to look asleep, until someone whispered they were past the beds. Having moved away, he dared one quick look but could only see the ceiling.

But he could hear the sounds. Willman followed the Jem'Hadar searchers with a box. They didn't find a lot. Somehow, that sounded odd to him. Each item made a small thud as it hit the bottom of the box.

"Why is there so little equipment here?" asked the head of the squad, as Bashir imagined his weapon pointed at Willman.

They were standing relatively near his row of beds. He listened intently. The intense sense of danger had made him very aware.

Willman sounded calm. "We were just a little colony before we got inundated. I had what I needed, what you have there. You have our records to check."

"The others brought cargo," said the Jem'Hadar.

Willman sighed. "They brought lots of food. There was a little medical equipment but much of it was ruined in the crash." Willman's voice got more forceful, but just a little. "They didn't know they would need to bring sickbay. Nobody expected the ship to crash and all these casualties," he said, just a hint of outrage. Bashir imagined him waving his hand generally around the large room. "Do you think eighty-two people would have died if I'd had more to work with?"

Bashir thought about how sometimes the Jem'Hadar simply *killed* the wounded. He hoped Willman wasn't taking too many chances with his assertive tone.

The Jem'Hadar paused. His second spoke. "The entire hospital has been searched, including all personal areas. Nothing was found. No hidden storage of mass amounts have been located."

Bashir forced himself to breath and remain calm despite the anticipation. "You may go," said the First.

He could hear as the Jem'Hadar left the main floor, and one of his own nurses came by to check. He though her name was Kay but she was fairly new.

Someone said they were herding the remaining hospital staff towards the main square. Willman and the two nurses remained, Bashir lifting his head a little to check the room. They were concentrating on another patient apparently in distress. His leg was still numb and they hadn't taken off the brace. But they hovered, checking too often. At least someone else was worse off then him now.

And he was still there. For now, he told himself, then pushed it away. He was tired. Everyone else would have a long terrible day but for him the worse of it was over. Hoping for sleep, he pushed that nagging wonder of where all the small equipment he had brought had gone away. But sleep wouldn't come. Eighty-two dead, he thought. Why hadn't they gone first if they were just going to die anyway? Why had he let the twenty beam off the ship when he should have known?

But the day had been long and tense and he gave in to the weariness and slept an uneasy slumber.

o0o

Sisko was trying hard to resist a yawn. Glebaroun had gone over each point of his policy in infinite detail, and the meeting seemed to be going on forever. The confiscation of things on the contraband list was only the first topic. The rules that he would have to enforce were far less simple than that. On the surface it was quite uncomplicated; aside from supplies being delivered, what they did internally was of little concern to the Vorta. But there were significant exceptions.

Acts of violence were forbidden. Sisko had explained that under their own laws they were equally unacceptable, but Glebaroun had clarified that he could not personally tolerate them. He himself had jurisdiction over the offender. Sisko understood; those prone to violence would be removed. He would not tolerate any form of open resistance. But it was more than that. He had noticed the tone Glebaroun used when he said the words. It may have been Dominion policy, but that part was very personal to this Vorta.

Vance had been watching, looking attentive, but was tired. His control seemed to slip a little and Sisko managed to brush his hand with some notes he was taking. Vance looked up and the new, before then unknown, mask was back in place.

o0o

Dax walked behind the Jem'Hadar in the warehouse, scanning the cargo containers brought by the Antelope. She carried a box as well. One of them had to come along as the person responsible for the section, and she hadn't liked the look in O'Brien's eyes.

They hadn't found anything to take. She'd been gruffly asked about the amount of food, but they had accepted her explanation that they had replicated what they had used, and those filled with medicines that had been used up. The replicators were already gone, beamed away first in front of the people in the square.

They could check her story if they chose to verify it.

The special shipments from the Antelope were of great interest to them, however. A great many had been opened and checked. The only thing offensive were a few household items, only of minor violation. They were taken away, but would be evaluated and likely returned.

The Jem'Hadar didn't have the authority to leave them.

She wished the situation elsewhere were as good. The Jem'Hadar had confiscated a lot of things, from the replicators to the terraforming equipment. The rocky soil of the planet had to be heavily processed before it would support crops, and without the equipment that was impossible. Ultimately, that meant they were dependent upon the Dominion for their food. The supplies in the warehouse and what could be grown in the treated area would help, but would never be enough.

Outright rebellion would doom them, but she suspected few understood how easily they could be punished for the lesser things. Bashir did, and the Bajorans. She knew Willman understood. Looking at the population and food, she hoped the others would come to quickly.

But she would not see the end. She knew. Something terrible was going to happen that would end her life. Now, everyone too scared to blink, the Jem'Hadar were behaving. But people would get used to things eventually and begin to take chances. Today, they would leave. Tomorrow, some tomorrow, it would be different. She followed the monsters as they opened and searched, and wondered how long it would take until they came again.

o0o

Lonnie would never forget the trip to the square. Those in the small room were ordered gruffly to stand. She kept her eyes on the tiles as she pulled herself up, feet half numb, trying not to make a sound. But she could see their rifles were drawn, and hurried after the others as they were ordered out the door.

She'd walked to the square many times before, but this was the longest journey she'd ever taken. Behind them, the soldiers had guns pointed. Everyone was trying to hurry down the wet, rocky path without slipping. She didn't allow herself to think of what would happen if someone had.

It grew more crowded as they reached the camp. People were being shoved forward, clutching children. Others were held back in a group until the path cleared. A baby was crying, screaming loudly as the mother tried to comfort the child while watching the crowd she was pushed in between. Another woman followed, carrying a little boy who reached out for his mother. Lonnie watched in fascination as the two women moved together, carefully balancing the children and watching for footing. She took great care to feel ahead for dips in the path herself, though this part was much less muddy.

The captives stopped as they funneled across the small bridge that led to their old residential section. Funny how she put that, she thought, now that there were two. When her turn came she suddenly felt so much more vulnerable without the crowd of bodies, and hurried a little faster.

Finally, in the square, she pushed her way to the side, and took over a small patch of dirt. She didn't plan to half-collapse, but relief took over as she saw the guards back away.

The square filled fairly quickly, groups of the new residents moved out of their homes and forced across the bridge. As far as she knew there were no incidents. Sisko had been quite blunt about the Jem'Hadar. It had scared everyone but perhaps it had saved a few lives. She knew some of their staff were still angry at his speech, and she worried what they might do. But at least they hadn't done it today.

Then they waited. Late morning turned into afternoon. Fear began to lose to exhaustion. Some had eaten before but Lonnie had not had time for more than her small breakfast. She regretted not getting herself that Last Meal that everyone else did now. She had no idea what food would be from now on, but was hungry.

The sky took on a sheet of greyish clouds. The day had been warm, not overly bad but sitting in the sun was miserable and the clouds cooled the air a bit. But rain threatened and she wondered if they'd let them sit here in a deluge, too. Or would their leader, whoever it was, not wish to be as miserable.

She didn't care what they had to say anymore, just that they hurry up and get it over. No one new had been brought to the square for hours. The guards at the Communications office had not moved.

The clouds parted as the afternoon grew late, the sun poking out and the humidity growing higher. She distracted herself by worrying about their patients. She had not seen them take Bashir away, but that meant nothing. Several patients had been very sick, too. With all their instruments gone, would they die before the new ones could be put into use? Were Willman or the nurses allowed to leave the room to get supplies?

It was easier than thinking about what would come tomorrow, the tomorrow she still could not comprehend.

Some of the early arrivals in the square had surrendered to sleep. The two women were nearby and the baby was sleeping. The boy was ripping up small piles of the mossy grass, pressed against his mother and the other woman, but had not made a sound. Lonnie had had no sleep, but was too scared now.

Boredom was dulling the edge of the fear. What was the point of this, she wondered? If it was to prove they could do it, they had succeeded. She just wanted it over and to leave.

Her back hurt. One of the orderlies was behind her, his legs bent up at his knees. She leaned against him, almost comfortable, and didn't even know she was falling asleep.

o0o

Sisko was trying to listen, but the best he was managing was to look attentive. Glebaroun had outlined everything in intricate detail. He tried to remember it, but there was too much. He felt like a kid in school when the lecture had gone on too long, afraid somebody would ask him a question and he'd forget the answer. But Glebaroun had the kind of power no teacher had ever had.

He and Vance nodded at appropriate moments as Glebaroun explained the general freedom of movement they were being given until they showed reason why they should not. Sisko had noted that theme. Glebaroun seemed to be giving them a chance before he got heavy-handed.

He was thinking about that and what it might mean when the Vorta paused. He appeared to be listening to some hidden communication device.

His tone abrupt, he announced that the DNA tags taken earlier had been accepted. Without warning, Glebaroun stood and motioned for them to follow.

o0o

The three men emerged into the crowded square, filled with the newly-merged population of Cyrus 3. Half of them had fallen asleep. As the Vorta and his reluctant party stepped on the stage, a loud alarm sounded and everyone jumped.

The Vorta was putting on a show. Two chairs had been placed on the small podium left over from their ceremony, and Sisko and Vance sat without being told. Glebaroun stepped forward and waited. The crowd was absolutely silent. He watched them for a time, the guards with rifles out, ready to shoot.

Then he spoke. Sisko remembered how long and detailed the rules were, but the crowd only got a summary. There was already a printed version sitting in his office to post. The tone was the same, the principle speaking to the students at school about the new rules, except this was quick lecture to the inmates of a reform school.

There was a menace there, especially surrounded with armed Jem'Hadar. It was so subtle Sisko could not really define the difference. But the words were spoken with a small variance in tone. Much was left out, leaving the crowd to guess how far the rules went.

Sisko watched the Vorta as he talked. Vance would officially bow out soon. He would have to deal with this monster dressed in silk and velvet alone.

If he'd insisted on taking everyone the first trip, if they'd gone to a base instead of this barren rock, he wouldn't have to worry about them. These people-most, at least-were here because he'd failed. If there was to be a cost borne, it was his to accept.

The meeting in the square dragged on, the tone growing more somber as it progressed. Sisko watched Vance as he stared ahead, knowing his deep embarrassment at being caught in such public view rather than in the crowd. But none of that showed. Not even the hatred he had seen in that flash before the mask was pulled. What had changed? Was it simply that he was soon to be free of the responsibly, or something else it was unlikely he would ever speak of.

The crowd sat numbly, staring and trying to make some sense of the nightmare.

Then, as abruptly as it began, it was over. The sky was almost dark, late spring rains threatening to begin before morning.

"Tags will be issued soon," said the Vorta. "The rules of this colony will be posted and each family will receive a copy. Read them and learn them for these rules *will* be enforced."

He stepped back, and the Vorta and Jem'Hadar vanished.

Sisko stood up, stepping forward. "Go home. Get some rest. Rations will be available if you're hungry in an hour or so."

Vance stepped off the little stage and disappeared as quickly as he could into the crowd. Sisko wished he could join him, just to get out of public view again. Just to drop his mask and let the reality they were now a part of be mourned for a moment.

He had heard all the excruciating detail. If they could not keep order themselves, the Jem'Hadar would do it instead. Even Vance should have been scared of that. Sisko hoped his people would face reality better than he had.

o0o

Vance had not listened to the Vorta's dog and pony show. He could not get the one where it had all began out of his mind.

It had been one of the endless presentations he gave to anyone with the slightest potential of providing a home base to their research, something they now needed to go forward. This one had been full. He'd done the slide show and canned talk, and the tables were loaded with food. Every last grain of it was gone before the night was over. Most of his guests were from undernourished worlds or those living in the midst of wars. He and Justin were getting desperate. He was close to suggesting they consider some place where the locals would be grateful as long as they were not involved in a civil war.

His father and older brother had died in one of those while they were helping them grow more food. Walter drew the line at taking that risk.

When it was over, the one guest who had not touched the refreshments and ignored the dogs and ponies came forth. He was diminutive, dressed rather flamboyantly. And the elf ears. As soon as Glebaroun had appeared, he knew. They had been offered the deal which was too good to be true. Justin has been suspicious, but been bought by all the bounty provided. Walter had simply decided it was the best deal they were going to get and there was risk in all of them.

Fleeing from the stage, he just wanted to be alone. When he had seen the Vorta on the monitor, he had wanted to run. But he couldn't. Putting on his dog and pony face, he let them see what would sell. Just like he had so many times before. Perhaps it was good he'd gotten the act down so pat he could slip into it so easily, even after several years had passed, because inside he was breaking.

The Dominion didn't have to take Cyrus. They already owned it.

o0o

For a moment, no one moved. Lonnie stared at the empty stage, and the places where the Jem'Hadar had been. She didn't trust that they would not suddenly return. But as the people waited in eery silence, nothing happened.

The orderly started to stretch, slowly dragging himself to his feet. She pulled herself up, still staring at the empty spaces.

Some of the people here were used to transporters. She had used them occasionally, but had never seen so many disappear at once. But it was a reminder of just how easy it would be for them to return.

Others were making their way, slowly, out to the pathways. Their faces were full of fear and exhaustion, and anxious to find out what was left of the few things they had. She tried to imagine. Everywhere, the things of their lives would be scattered about, trampled, perhaps broken. Or they would not be there at all.

She'd be like the rest and try to sort through a few things, she assumed, but she was too tired and had been sitting too long. And worse, the devastating reality was taking its toll.

All over Cyrus, soon people would clear off their beds and fall asleep.

When they returned to their homes, they would have to deal with the memorable things they treasured that were missing. The violation of their lives would be real. There would be anger, but frustration too. The Jem'Hadar were gone. Nobody wanted them back, but how would they have to live now so the creatures would stay away?

It was still not yet real to her that she was not just having a nightmare and would wake up with it over. But when she went home there would be a reminder that this nightmare was quite real.

She waited until the square was nearly deserted, not wanting rations but hungry. Wandering towards the place they were given out, she saw people waiting. But she was told it would be a little while.

She was too tired to wait. The mess would be there, be it now or an hour from now or tomorrow. She would have to deal with it eventually, but now she needed to sleep.

Perhaps it was like that for everyone since they disappeared into their rooms or tents so quickly. But when they opened their doors, it would be the first hard lesson of the new life they were to lead after their first exhausted sleep under Dominion rule..

End, Legacy, Year 1, Part 1-2, Chapter 8


	10. Part 3Lessons Chapter 9

LEGACY

An Alternative History of the Dominion War

Year 1

Part 3-Adjustments

Chapter 9

In her mind, Lonnie was going to check her quarters and then go to the hospital. She knew she'd be needed there. But the emotions from their the day before had taken a great toll. The night before she'd stopped at her door and hesitated to open it. She had gently pushed it open and let it fall back with the room in view.

She had just stared. She knew what they'd do but it now it was real. All of her possessions, everything she owned now, was scattered all over the floor. Despite the exhaustion, she had sat on the floor by the heap, slowly pulling a few things into sorted piles.

But there was too much. She had retrieved her favorite blanket off the floor, and straitened the jumbled covers a bit before climbing inside, lying still in the dark, listening to the rain as it softened the night and she fell asleep. One thing they could not change was the rain.

She woke up when the sun hit her in the eyes that morning.

She remembered the searches and the pile of things. She knew they had to look, but why did they have to be so rough and make such a mess? What was missing? What of her cherished things had they broken?

Staring at it from the bed, she could not move. The surge of anger was so strong she couldn't put words to it, just a turmoil inside her that consumed everything else. If the monsters that had done this thing were there she could have killed them, but they had gone.

And there had been the square, with its endless hours of sitting and the terrifying future laid out so plainly. She could see their huge rifles and the anger deepened, complicated by fear and a sense of reality. She knew she had no way to strike back. Those who tried would die. How had the Bajorans, in their half a century of this, managed to want to go on?

Wrapping her blanket around her like a protective cocoon, she sat up, avoiding the moment she must separate the mess. But she had things to do. Willy was depending on her. She was important in this new world because she could help keep people alive. She had every reason to stay alive and find a way to manage..

But the anger was no different. The personal violation was still very sharp.

It was morning, and her job was waiting. She climbed down, carefully picking her way across the scattered damage. Ever since the new people had come with news of this enemy, especially since the Federation had abandoned them to their fate, she had thought about the betrayal.

But it wasn't real until then. Enemy soldiers had torn into her personal life, and those who were sworn to protect them had allowed it.

The anger was a double-edged sword now. She understood her friends sorrow poured out in the letter, but understood the betrayal, too.

Nobody could help them. Nothing could make the anger dim, not even time. She stared at the ruins of her life scattered on the floor, and tomorrow didn't matter. But then, it had to. Lives depended on her. There was nothing to strike out against anyway.

She took a deep breath, composing herself. Already, a tiny barrier was surrounding the anger, an almost physical thing that kept it at bay. She had to go to work today, and all the days to come. She could not function frozen in anger.

She sat on the floor, picking up things one at a time, trying to sort them. She threw the clothes in a pile. But she could *feel* the filth that covered them. She looked at her clothes, touching them as well. She shivered. She'd slept in the filth and it was all over her.

Stripping off all she wore, she scrubbed herself hard in the shower. But even the hardest scrubbing did not clean her. A small pile of clothes had fallen still folded. They hadn't soiled any of them. She pulled enough for the day from it and dressed.

Even after she had washed everything she owned and scrubbed even the walls, it would still be tainted and violated.. She stood looking over the floor, stunned by the mess, afraid to move the largest pile. She'd done nothing to them, but they had rifled through her things like they were nothing, like she was nothing.

She wanted to stay here, sorting and cleaning and hiding from the world outside. But she could not. But there were a few small things that must be there. She would think of them all day if she didn't look. She had brought very little from home to this place and they had defiled it. Inside, the grief was as sharp as if everyone she loved was dead.

Then she saw a glint of light reflected, and gently picked up the small piece of glass. Next to it was another, broken from the charm. Her mother had given her the little glass charm. She could fix it, but it would never quite be the same. Four generations of her mother's family had passed that charm to their daughters, and she would have to pass the broken pieces. It broke her heart.

She couldn't touch anything else. She was afraid to discover what else had been destroyed.

Her clock was missing. She didn't really want to go, but Willy needed her.

Bashir might be gone. She had to know. She had to leave this room and the pain it held so close.

She carefully laid the broken pieces of glass in a small box to make sure it wasn't damaged again. She had to hide it for now. It hurt too much any other way.

Everything hurt too much. A chill fell over her and she could feel nothing at all.

She located her shoes, tossed by the wall that night, away from the mess. She slipped them on, and stepped out of the nightmare and into a different one.

Outside, she studied the square. The Jem'Hadar were still gone. In the supply area, there was a small line and a group of people sitting, eating rations. She guessed that was breakfast. Her stomach growled. At least the line wasn't long, even if she wasn't ready for rations.

The Federation rations were dull but quieted her stomach as she ate them on her way to work. But when their new overlords arrived, what sort of food would there be? Bashir had told her about the rations he'd been fed, how distasteful they'd been at first, and she savored what might be their last touch of the world they'd known.

She was passing the tents, people already moving things aside to accommodate more building. The rain had complicated things, but she thought that perhaps they were used it now. They had tarps and piled scrap building material set up to keep their things out of the mud. And they were excited, despite the strain of the day before. Perhaps solid walls around you mattered even more now that there was no denying it was forever. The adults were helping sort the supplies today, following instructions from the crew. Perhaps a *home* would be yours, even here, if you'd put a little of yourself into it.

No matter how little there was to hope for, you had to go on. She tried hard to remember that as she trudged to work up the mud covered path up the hill.

o0o

Justin stood in the middle of his workroom, staring at the piles of notes they had ignored. He disliked padds and had often used paper. Some considered it odd but then everything about him set him apart from most of them. He did not move, still reeling from the sight of the Vorta. Of course they left them alone. They didn't need to take them. They already knew everything there was. Well, most of it in the last few years when their sponsors had been so generous. The same ones that now had become their owners. Or had they always been since Walter had brought them here?

He had moved the mess they'd made of his personal things into a box for later. He wasn't one to keep trinkets. He couldn't find his clock and that annoyed him, but the rest was just things.

And then, he smiled. They thought they'd taken everything. But it had been stolen away from them. The blasted Vorta and his game with the square had annoyed Justin, who preferred the quiet and orderly place he had made in this room over the outside world, but he had held fast, giving nothing away.

They thought they'd won. They thought they'd bought and paid for he and Walter. But they had simply been a pawn. The two years had been ten of the kind they'd managed before. And Justin, still not liking the deal as fully as it seemed, had not told them quite everything. Some of it was in the notebooks piled in the cabinet. But most of what got left out, small seemingly unimportant things which nobody would notice, was in his head.

They only *thought* they could duplicate the project. But they were wrong. It would work, but not nearly as well as the real thing. He would deny them *everything*.

He studied his rumpled clothes, slept in since he was too tired to change the night before. He would need to clean soon. But he was hungry and even if he had to eat rations he knew it wouldn't be forever. Sorting out his change of clothes from a folded pile fallen on the floor, he showered and dressed. But before he left, he went to the notebooks again, stroking them.

He would play their game. He would let them think he belonged to them. But eventually, they would have to come to him and then they would know that they had lost. They could do to him what they wanted then. The cave would be still be there with its treasures for the future. But Justin would have already won.

o0o

James had dragged himself back to his quarters the night before, in too much of a fog to notice much of anything. He'd carefully stepped around the mess piled on the floor to reach his bed. Everything was disheveled, but he collapsed and pulled a blanket over him, falling asleep immediately. He'd come early the day before, for breakfast, having nothing else to do. He'd sat all day, lost in a growing state of shock, all the while wondering what was to become of them. Some of them, he thought bitterly, had craved challenges, and he hoped they liked the new ones that arrived the night before. For himself, all that existed was grief. He lived for the day he'd leave this place, but now that would never come. He could not bear the thought.

As light filtered into the windows, he woke and slowly surveyed the ruins of his life. He didn't care about the clothes, or the scattered personal items. He wanted his art supplies to be safe.

He had saved them in the original box Lonnie had put them in, a lifetime before on his birthday, and after frantic searching, discovered it thrown against a wall. Most of it was there. But the tubes had been stepped on and broken. Nearly in tears, he gently scraped up what he could to save. He moved other things out of the way, tossing clothes and other unimportant things into a pile. A few of the other things were mixed in with the clothes, but still more of it was missing. He held the box with its saved remnants and cried.

But he left it in the middle of the room, taking his light and searching under the furniture. His hopes soared when he discovered that some of it had gone under the dresser. He shoved the table next to it out of the way and carefully lifted a side of the dresser, sliding it gingerly across the floor.

More of his tubes of unusual paints and brushes were under the dresser. He collected it slowly, as if he'd found buried treasure. One by one, making it a kind of ceremony, he added them to the box. Then, sitting in the sunshine that came through the window, he took it out, laying it on the floor and surveying what was left.

Most of it was still there. Some of the tubes were half-empty, and a few of the brushes and other things were probably scattered elsewhere in the room. But he counted himself lucky that the monsters had not destroyed everything.

The one thing he could not replace with anything else, though, was missing. The iridescent cube Lonnie had shown him how to powder and use to make a glistening sheen was gone. He put the other things back in the box, once more fighting back tears.

First, he moved the furniture along the wall. It could have fit under some of it, and if they'd stepped on it perhaps he'd find the powder on the floor to carefully sweep into safety. But all he found were a few cases and brushes, and more of his smaller, unimportant possessions.

He looked under the bed but couldn't see it. Exhausted, he sat utterly still mourning the ruin of his life, and all the pictures they had vanquished that day. As the sunlight moved across the room he sat on the now empty floor, sobbing. For James, what the Dominion planned didn't matter, for the only life he cared about was gone.

Then, when the late afternoon sun had changed all the angles he saw a small shadow under the bed he hadn't seen before. He stared at it, watching as the light moved and something glistened in its reflection.

He moved the bed carefully, afraid of damaging his prize even more. But it had only hid in a shadow, safe from the monsters, until he could rescue it again. The cube was half-crushed, but he lovingly brushed the powder into his hand and then dropped it into a small box. Nothing mattered but the cube, not food or clothes or monsters at the door.

Holding the larger half, still in one piece, he cradled it as if it were a child. He would dress in rags and eat whatever they had, but these things would be life. He settled against the bed, the box next to him and the rock in his hand, holding onto the only thing in life that mattered anymore.

Tears fell down his cheeks, and he pulled a pillow off the bed. Curling around the things that made tomorrow worth wanting, he fell asleep on the floor.

The park was all around him. His grandfather embraced him. His father and mother sat at separate tables, as far apart as they could from each other, but both came to hold him. Outside, the world was hard and cold, but in his dreams James could go home.

o0o

Willman had spent the night in his office, as nobody else had shown up to relieve him. He had no idea what had happened, hoping for some of his staff to return soon. He needed rest, but more than that he craved some information.

After the search, the hospital had been left alone. But a line of guards had been left outside the door, and when it grew too dark to see they'd still been there. He'd looked out in the morning, finding none, but did not trust that they were gone.

That night, alone with the two nurses and far too many patients, he'd surveyed what was left of his supplies and tools. Garnet had replicated the old style devices and once his staff learned how to use them they should be able to manage. But that would take time, and some of the patients didn't have that. None of those he could save were critical, but there were too many who were past his help now.

Some would live or not. Most of it was up to fate and if they wanted to. He could not tell which would choose to let go. He knew from before that nobody could tell until the moment came if life was cherished enough to fight for it.

If he could have just one special thing, a medical tricorder would make a great deal of difference. He would know who could be saved and who was doomed. It might preserve a lot of their supplies, assuming he got any.

The more he thought of it, the more sense it made. Perhaps, if he asked right and with the proper demeanor, it might make as much sense to them.

o0o

Lonnie took the long route to the hospital, suddenly fascinated by the people around her. Many were still just sitting, stunned by the day's events. She wondered, if she did not have her job, if she'd still be sitting amid a pile of debris mourning her life. These people didn't have anything to do.

Or, perhaps they were waiting for the monsters to return. They didn't need any Jem'Hadar on the surface. The creatures could appear in an instant.

At the end of the tents, opposite the ongoing building, a group of people were sorting the building materials and laying them out for several more houses. More space had been cleared, the things left piled in haphazard stacks as if they'd been hurriedly moved.

Most of the building crew were there, but there were many more helping. Others stood around in a half-ring, watching and offering water and food. They would manage, she knew. She understood. Perhaps the building would not go so quickly or be as precise, but it was something to do. If, at the end of the day some of these people could move their cots and clothes inside a home, it would make the reality a little easier. They couldn't leave but a dry place to sleep might help.

At least it would be a new place, untouched by the monsters and their filth. Tonight, when she got off shift, she would have to clean her place and yet nothing would rid it of the memories.

o0o

When she arrived at the hospital, Willy was waiting for her at the door. She'd seen the two nurses left the day before as they went home, but others had arrived before. But he was waiting for her.

"We've rearranged the patients," he said as she followed him inside. The room was split into two clear sides now. She saw a red marker on one wall and could guess what that meant.

"Bashir?" she asked, anxious to know if his fears had been realized.

"That side, with the lucky ones," said Willy, though she wondered if that was the right word.

"There's a list of supplies we're left here on my desk. Check it over. We'll have to get the old style ones here today. I want all personal to attend the first training session later this afternoon. Make sure they are all notified. I'll talk to O'Brien and get the supplies delivered. Or I'll get them myself. Either way, have my people here after lunch."

She listened, wondering where the man she'd known had gone. This man gave orders and she wondered if she'd been promoted to his second in command from her duties. But he was in a hurry to go, and she guessed he wasn't intending to sleep.

"I'll send word to them." She wanted to ask a question, but wondered how to address him. Somehow the friendly nickname didn't quite fit, and yet "doctor" was too formal. It was almost as if she should call him "Sir" as if he had become her commander.

"How's the food situation?" she finally asked. It wasn't what she'd wanted to know, but that was too personal. She needed to see his face as he answered to tell if it was too late for personal questions.

"We need to set that up. I'll ask Supply about that too." Then he paused, his eyes softening for a flash. "I'm going to need everything you have. I've got to have some kind of official hierarchy. Right now, you're my chief assistant. Act like it."

She nodded, then hesitantly replied. "I will, Sir."

He paused. "Good. Remember that. We've got to show we can handle the authority or we'll lose it all."

He moved past her, hardly noticing the sadness in her eyes. "I've got some important things to do but I'll be back."

He hurried out the door, and a great sense of loss briefly flashed before she banished it. Her family was gone, lost at the other end of the quadrant. And her friend and mentor had become a stranger. But the hospital had too many patients on the red side, traditionally, in the color code of triage, the place you put those who might well die.

She could mourn later. There was too much to do now.

On the red side of the big room, those in critical condition had been arraigned. After reviewing the list of equipment and supplies, she understood that they didn't have a lot of chances. The other side of the room was no guarantee of survival, but given time and luck most of those patients would leave alive.

Bashir was among them, sound asleep. He was more relaxed than he'd been before, despite the pain. She checked and was surprised that he'd only received a normal dose of pain killer.

He'd been sure they'd take him away. They had his DNA, and the hospital record bore his name. He could still be taken. But these creatures were very efficient, and must have known already who he was.

He, too, might matter to Them. He was a surgeon. Willy wasn't trained in anything complicated, and some of the dead might have lived had he made it out of the crash in better shape. But why did it matter to Them if those below them survived or not? What use did they have that they were allowed to survive?

But that was the past and future. The present was the short list of supplies and a pile of paperwork Willy, or *Sir*, had left for her. The future could hold anything.

She snagged one of the nurses working the room. "Dr. Willman is out. If there's any problems I'll be in his office. And, if Bashir wakes up let me know."

The nurse was from Bashir's staff, and just nodded. She'd been Starfleet, too. She was used to getting orders.

Lonnie wasn't used to giving them. She closed Willy's door, settling at his desk, and picked up a pen. The broken pendant had been hard, but this would be worse. She picked up the first form, a list of patients requiring a brief description of their injuries. She put it down, staring at the wall.

She'd promised him. She picked up the form, then a pen, and shut out everything but the words. It was just a pendant, a bit of broken glass she could fix, and the form was just a list. She couldn't bear for either to mean anything more.

o0o

Sisko looked around his office, now his alone. Vance had left a few personal items behind, and when Sisko arrived that morning, all of it had been gone. Sitting on his desk was a pile of papers, and a note that it had arrived that morning, to be completed before any supplies were sent. Vance had left his key, a final parting gesture that was all too clear.

He'd known when he woke that morning, his things all over the floor. He picked it up without really looking at it. He'd sort through it later. His mind was on the rest of the day, and all the days, when he would have to somehow balance between leading his people down the path of least destruction and not becoming a true collaborator.

It could be done. It had in the past, though the cost was so high that few survived it. But he'd brought them here, *stranded them*, and he was the one to pay. It didn't really matter to him if they turned against him, but if he did not hold enough of their respect he could lose control.

Others, like Vance, might end everything then. He could not take that chance.

He trusted his own people. Miles and Dax had opened up rationing on their own. He'd have to have a report about it-there was a report required about everything, but Starfleet hadn't been all that different. People like Miles were used to it.

Willman wouldn't make trouble. He didn't know much about the others who had held positions under Vance, but he'd be careful with them. And he hoped his role as Emissary would help dissuade any of the surviving Bajorans from starting some sort of active resistance.

The Vorta had been very clear about things. If they followed the rules, nothing would happen to them. If not, they would be taught a hard lesson. He almost wished he could be like Vance and run. But he hadn't wanted to stay on at DS9 and had grown into the dual roles he embraced. For these people it was even more important that he succeed this time as well.

Opaka had helped him understand. Perhaps, he thought, she knew he would have to do what she had done under Cardassian rule. She could not fight the Cardassians, but she could not betray the trust of her own either. She held Bajor together, and he only hoped he could do as well.

Someone knocked on the door, one of Miles' helpers. He had some papers, and stood hesitantly inside the office. "Yes?" asked Sisko.

"Sir," he said after a hesitation, "the Chief asked me to bring these supply lists."

Sisko nodded. He was relieved that O'Brien didn't have to be prompted. He hoped it would be a good example for any others.

"Good. I'll need those. Make sure I get a full inventory of things before tomorrow. It looks like I'll need one."

"No problem, Sir."

The young man had almost called him "Captain" and he was relieved he'd stopped himself. He wished the rest would remember that Starfleet and its ranks were banished here. But the Vorta went out of his way to call him by his old title. Perhaps, for his people, it was a measure of respect to remember his rank, and if he was lucky they wouldn't stop. Or maybe a reminder. But he chose the believe the former because it was a tiny ray of hope.

He leafed through the paperwork after the young man was gone. There was several days worth if he worked all day on it. He started sorting forms and reports into subjects when someone else knocked on the door.

"Come," he said.

It was Dr. Willman. "Yes, Doctor? May I help you?"

Willman obviously had something on his mind. Sisko was impressed with the doctor's realistic approach to things and was interested. Willman looked exhausted, and Sisko indicated that he should sit.

Willman pulled up the nearest chair and nearly collapsed in it. He looked up at Sisko, eying the pile of paper in front of him. "Mine is almost as tall," he offered. "But I have a special request. I want to talk to the Vorta. There is something we need."

Sisko was surprised, but intrigued. He wanted to know more, but suspected he could trust the doctor. "He wants to discuss something later today so you have good timing. But I think I'm supposed to pass on this sort of thing."

"No, Captain, I need to explain myself."

"Perhaps you ought to explain it to me first."

"Certainly." Willman proceeded to explain.

Sisko listened intently, surprised at the audacity. On the other hand, if anyone could make it work, Willman could. "That's very intriguing. He just might buy it at that. I'll mention it. You should be ready if he agrees."

"Thank you, Captain. I suspect it may save a lot of lives."

Sisko frowned. "Mind you," he continued, "You're about the only person around here I'd let see him personally. At least you won't get yourself in trouble."

"Any idea what Walter's up to?" asked Willman suddenly.

"He took his personal things out this morning. He left his key. I almost wish I could do that. But the Vorta won't let me." He looked at the doctor, sure he had an ally he could trust. "Look, he calls me "Captain". Why don't you call me Ben."

"Make that Willy, then."

"Thanks, Willy. I'll let you know as soon as I can."

Willman, no *Willy* he reminded himself, was exhausted. He rose slowly from the chair and shook his head, as if to clear it. "No sleep," he said.

"Then get a nap. You can't be looking like your about to fall over today. If he approves of course."

Willman nodded, recognizing an order. Sisko wondered if they were just giving the Vorta another way to spy on them, since the tricorder would be a great temptation. But he knew that Willman understood that. It would make his life easier, and save some lives. And Willy knew that that was worth the risk.

Sisko turned back to his pile hoping the Vorta approved. Even a little victory was better than nothing.

o0o

After a rest, Willman had just started organizing the medical devices into packets for his staff to practice with when Sisko's message arrived. He told Lonnie to tell everyone the class was postponed until he returned. He'd already changed into his best clothes and showered. He wanted to make sure the Vorta was shown proper respect.

He hurried to Sisko's office, and was introduced to the Vorta with his bright clothes and curled ears. He had never seen one before. He wondered if he'd spent the long day in the square if he'd have to nerve to be here. But it was too late for doubts now. Sisko retreated and it was his turn to play the game. Again, he reminded himself.

The Vorta studied his face. Willman was careful to give him the proper respect. He did not look at the man's face, keeping his eyes to the side. But he didn't stare at the floor either. Glebaroun was obviously curious about the request. Willman didn't know how much Sisko had said, but he assumed he didn't give any details.

He held out the instrument he had brought with him. "Sir, this device analyzes the patients condition, but only a few of the things a medical tricorder can do. I request that I be allowed the tricorder for it has many advantages for both you and us."

The Vorta looked surprised.

"Doctor, that is a banned item."

"I know that, Sir, but there are certain advantages to that device which would appeal to you."

Intrigued by the game the doctor was playing, the Vorta said, "Go on."

"With that device I can diagnose a patient much easier. This one will require much more in terms of resources to do the same. I will only use the medicines that I need, and not waste any of them on treating things which don't exist."

"I see. But it is still a banned device."

"It could be used for other purposes," Willman agreed. "That would take modifying it, however, and I have no intention of doing that."

The Vorta gazed at him, looking interested. "I actually do believe you, Doctor, but you are one of many who could modify it."

"Not if it was monitored. Place a small chip in the device and it will transmit whatever it is reading. You'll know if it's being used properly that way. Anyone trying to modify it will set off a silent alarm."

The Vorta looked interested. He smiled at the doctor, with a fake smile that Willman found creepy. But didn't let that show.

"I will consider it."

Willman let out a breath of relief when the Vorta dismissed him and he took his leave. He doubted they would allow it, but just perhaps he had given them a way. He knew what it could cost, but if some of them lived he was willing to take the risk.

o0o

The early afternoon sun was bright, and Sisko paused at his new quarters, stopping to get a hat. He'd temporarily taken one of the smaller quarters of the Vance's departed staff, waiting for Vance to be evicted. Most of his people were not used to the bright sun, and Willman had suggested they make some sort of visors to help. Sisko had asked for a baseball cap.

He'd moved a few days before. He had to be near his office, and as Vance's old staff had mostly resigned they were moved to the new residential area. Miles and Dax and others with official positions were give their rooms. Vance hadn't been evicted yet, but was waiting for a place to live. He'd be moved to residential within the week. Sisko had bumped up his priority to get rid of him. Then he wouldn't have any basis to argue.

Sisko stepped down the pathway that had been so strange a short while before but was already familiar. The stepped layers were gradually being covered with homes. He noticed more were being built at once now, with an overflowing pool of help. The breeze covered everything with a fine dust, billowing from where a small knot of people were breaking up the dried mud from the rains.

For a moment he just stopped and watched, proud of his people. It wasn't much of a life, but they were doing the best they could. It would be easier for them when they had a dry place to sleep, at least.

Each new building had a designation. Everything in this section was "R" for residential, followed by a number. It was required so the Dominion could key the dna tags they would have to wear with a location. Most of them didn't really understand that. It wouldn't be much different than wearing a combadge, except the tag was strictly required at all times.

Each building was to have a purpose, as in the residential "R". The number, in this area, would reflect the order in which they were completed. In what was supposed to be the first large scale terraforming operation, a community was being created instead.

Skirting past the building supplies on an already worn path, he took the slight turn that led to the hospital. It was set apart by a small rise from the main residential area. Construction of housing units for the hospital personal was stirring up another cloud of dust on the small rise near the pathway.

Two boxes had arrived in his office that day, one containing household items that were deemed acceptable and a small one marked "medical". The larger box had been moved to Supply, now headquartered near his office in one of the warehouses,

He had a surprise for Willy. Against all odds, Glebaroun had indeed given him the monitored tricorder. Having finally completed the records on the residents of Cyrus, both new and old, the Vorta had authorized the first official shipments of food and supplies. The box with the returned items had been with the first shipment, and been brought directly to his office.

He was also hoping that Willy would know where Vance was, as Sisko had not seen him since the long meeting the day of the takeover. Glebaroun didn't seem to have noticed the man's disappearance, but Sisko needed to talk to him. He was no longer in charge of the colony, but had not *officially* separated himself. Everything needed a form and Sisko was concerned he'd drag out the process. He was going to demand he officially work with them or officially resign. He had already been given a notice to vacate his quarters.

It would have been simple to just evict him and stick him in a tent, if necessary, but Vance was not the only of his people who felt as he did and Sisko did not want to push him too far.

Just because everything was there in his warehouse, or had been, didn't mean Vance hadn't found some other way. You kept your friends close, but your enemies closer.

Maybe Vance was just a deeply broken man, thought Sisko didn't know the exact reasons, and was going to fade away, but he was quite sure that not all of them would. They might end up despising him for his retreat, but in case they didn't Vance was the best chance of finding them.

o0o

Walter Vance sat on floor of the empty warehouse that had once housed the terraforming equipment, considering his options. Justin had recreated the project in a cave, but even if there was a small sense of victory about it, it changed nothing for Walter. His dream was to give something better than his father had. His parents had created seed which should grow in the poor places where nature went uncontrolled. He'd spent half his childhood in such places, making friends with children who had never heard of the world he came from. Sometimes it worked. And sometimes, heartbreakingly, they left having done nothing but given a failed hope. He saw a better way. His process would make the soil grow whatever you needed. It would be brought to anyone who required it.

But for him, that was only part of it. He wanted recognition. He wanted those who had dismissed their dream to notice. He wanted his dream, and his fathers, vindicated so nobody would forget. He'd even named the colony after his father so he'd never forget why he was here.

That day in the square, fifteen years of work and hope and dreams had been shattered. Not because the Dominion had come to Cyrus, but because they had always been here, because *he* had led them. Just as Sisko had doomed his own by trapping them in what was already lost.

Sisko was deeply consumed by guilt. He hid it well but Walter could see. He would allow them to use him because he needed to punish himself. Walter knew that perhaps his own guilt was worse, betraying family as well, but he did not need to punish himself over it. Instead, fueled by the grief and anger and regret that was past fixing, he vowed he would never be used again.

He would blend with the crowd. The Vorta would prefer dealing with Sisko alone, so there would be no trouble there. He knew certain of his staff had dreams of some sort of victory, but he knew they were wasting their time.

Eventually they would take what they wanted. He'd be hiding in the fields with the peasants, hoping nobody noticed. Warlords were already far too familiar to him and he knew they didn't worry about anyone's rules, even their own.

But this Vorta, did he know? Did they keep secrets from its own, too?

Walter abandoned the empty warehouse, moving up to the rise where he could look out over the new village they were building. The tents were slowly being replaced with solid little hovels, one of which would become his quite soon. Apparently Sisko had broken his rules just to get rid of him. It amused him slightly, though he'd miss his home. But looking out over the place that would never be a field, he felt nothing. To allow loss, or disappointment, or even pride in what had almost been done would be to let in the shame which hovered just past recognition.

Sisko had sent a note requesting a meeting. He pulled it out, crumpling it. He would leave the rooms he'd called home soon. He'd been going through his things, sorting out the mess the Jem'Hadar had left when it had been delivered. Looking at the shattered remnants of his memories, strewn over the floor, he did not want to go to Sisko's meeting. He didn't want to sign the paper giving it up, or receive a hovel in exchange. But it was done that way. It would be over. Perhaps best to be finished and past.

But watching the milling of the people, he knew he would always remember what he had done, how he had disregarded all Justin's worries when it had seemed too good, how he had never ask the questions he didn't want to hear the answers to, and knew in the quiet of night when he could not distract it away, there would no more be peace for him than for Sisko.

It did not even occur to him that likely alone among those places the Dominion now claimed as their own, Cyrus was still reaping the benefits of the dog and pony show.

o0o

A sound, faint and yet distant and Megan stared towards the darkened door. The sounds in the room quieted, everyone waiting in anticipation, the slow breathing of a mixture of suspense and anticipation and the smell of fear. The children crammed against her, not willing to move. The horrible fear now dimmed but never gone. Megan hoped it was food but perhaps it was some terrible interruption in their gloomy existence, or perhaps nothing. Chele, the little girl, was clinging to her so hard it hurt and she pulled her closer. Tanni, the boy, was pressed behind her.

Their mother was dead. She didn't know for sure but one of the people stored in the room had been a nurse. She had been driven out of the hospital with rifle fire in the background. Likely the sick, like the children's mother, were long dead. Their father had died when the Klingons had attacked the ship he'd been coming home on, as had Megan's parents. The two women had become close and when they'd come she'd promised that she'd care for them if they let her. She wanted to. But she didn't want to make the promise a lie and say she could forever.

A month before, she hadn't been filthy and hungry and locked in the storm basement of the city building. A month ago she had heard rumors of the odd problems in communications, but had nothing to do with that. But the nervous questions had worried her and she had wished the children were with their mother so if something happened she would not have to be responsible for them. But their mother was ill and her best friend and when the ambulance had taken her to the hospital there was no choice but to take them in.

The sound was gone. It must be nothing, she thought, disappointed. She was so hungry. Worse, the children were too. They cried in their sleep but didn't ask for food anymore. She'd recover but they were so little. The rest of their life, if they had one, they'd be marked by it. Leaning back she closed her eyes and tried to rest but all she could hear was the sound of the storm sirens as they blared, odd because it was summer and the storms didn't come until late in fall, usually not until winter. But they'd run out and to the shelters. Devon could have used weather modification like they did on Earth and some other places, but the wonderful thing about the Federation was you had a choice. The winter storms blew cold and hard and did some damage, but never enough to lose the sense of living with nature they had cherished for three generations.

Before they got to the emergency entrance, they faced lines of Jem'Hadar. A month ago, Megan's life had began its decent into nightmare. The Jem'Hadar had searched them, taking some out, but shoved the rest into the shelters. Then the doors had closed and shut for days.

Inside was food and water. They'd used it slowly, but they were in shock. They were terrified the doors would open and the hideous creatures would simply mow them down. There was not enough of it and it ran out. A week had gone by and there was no food and little water. The tap that fed their dungeon had been reduced to little more than a drip.

Megan pulled both children to her lap, holding them close. She gave them half of her food. The little girl was sick, running a fever. She didn't want anyone to know, since their month of captivity had changed them. They were afraid of sickness, and just as afraid of the sick.

Three weeks before, she had only been hungry. When the doors had opened and they'd been herded out she had been dragged along, clinging tightly to Megan's leg. Her brother was younger and wrapped firmly inside Megan's arm. She knew life would never be the same for them, even if the monsters were driven away. She clung to the children to give her a reason to care.

Outside, the sun too bright, they shielded their eyes to a line of broken figures. The government of Devon was assembled in a small cage. One by one, as they were forced to watch, they were executed. Then the guards picked out every tenth of those in the line to dig a pit. When the pit was dug, they picked every remaining seventh of them to drag the still living victims and dump them inside. Then they picked every tenth again, this time to cover it with a mound of earth.

She could still smell the blood. She had been spared, the children too tightly clinging and the guard had skipped past counting her each time. But the bodies were dragged past her and the trail of blood would live with her forever. She tried to shield the children but they stared in rapt and horrified fascination.

Afterwards, they had been fed and sent back to their dungeon. The water had resumed its strength. Food came, in no particular schedule or amount. Nobody spoke, and nobody cared to.

Those covered with blood still wore it and the trace of its smell still filled the air.

The boy crawled under her arm, crying. It had been too long since they'd been fed. He was hungry and thus crying, but now, even so young, that was all he would do.

Two weeks before, they had drawn them all out again, making them line up. She held the children. They had ignored her, taking out most of the men. Only the older ones and the ones who were sick were left. The rest were sent back into the living hell they'd been relegated to.

There had been nothing but occasional food since, more but never much. The sick were worse. They were moved far away so she hid the child's sickness lest they all be shunned. But the worse was the not the fear or the hopelessness, but the unknown.

Someone wanted them alive still. Eventually they'd come. She did not want to know what for, but hoped it would be soon.

The door, without any warning, was yanked open. "Out, now!" the order was barked. They moved as quickly as they could.

Outside in the early morning light, she stood with the children clutched to her. A Vorta and several Jem'Hadar were near. With them stood several humans, their hair neatly trimmed, their faces clean, their uniforms neatly fitted.

She stared at them, then away as they looked over the motley survivors. The First addressed them but was conferring with the humans before he did.

"Stand still. You will be scanned."

She didn't move. The children were scanned as well, clutched in her arms. Then she was pulled forward, the human traitor striding up to her. "These children are sick. They'll be taken for treatment. They'll be cared for well. You needent worry over them anymore."

He was cold and unfeeling. He ordered the children taken from her and they were pulled away, as she tried to fight but was too weak. They shoved her down onto the loose dirt where the dead lay and she did not move. But she did not want to die. She couldn't take back the children, but she could get revenge and someday, the smooth faced monster who stood over her, detested and reviled, would understand the price of betrayal.

"Stand," she was ordered by the Jem'Hadar. She pulled herself slowly to her feet.

"This one?" asked the guard.

"Yes, I think so," said the traitor.

She was poked with the rifle and moved towards a group of other women, as they were pushed into a land transport. As the door shut and absolute darkness engulfed them, she collapsed to the floor, missing the children. They were sick and she had no illusions. But she had promised she would safeguard them as long as she could. She had not broken her promise.

Some of the women had been taken from elsewhere, out in the country. Devon had not given up without a fight. It had been an unequal battle but they had chosen to die that way.

Their one city of any note, Delara, where she had been, had been taken so fast there was no chance to fight. But now, for everyone, choice had become between a hard life or a hard death. Megan lay in the crowded transport, not yet knowing in the end which one she would eventually be her choice.

o0o

Lonnie was looking forward to the end of her shift. She was tired and ready for lunch, even if it was rations, but Willy had asked her to come to his office before she left. So she obeyed, hoping he didn't have more records for her to fill out. She wasn't sure who had asked her in, the man she knew as Willy or the new stranger everyone called Doctor Willman that had replaced him. But whatever he wanted she hoped he would hurry.

The line for lunch rations was long, and she'd been on her feet most of the night and morning.

He was busy when she entered, and he just looked up from his papers, hardly noticing her at all. She waited until he finished whatever he'd been doing.

"You have tonight off. I need you packed and ready to move in the morning." He pointed towards the dust cloud of new construction outside the hospital. "I have already."

She had spent the last few days putting her room back to some semblance of what it had been, and didn't expect to have to move so soon. "But you're head of the hospital, a Department head." All the other department heads were staying in the old section along with their upper staff.

Willman looked annoyed. She remembered he no longer encouraged questions, but wanted his rules followed. He was her superior and she'd spoken without permission. "I don't make the rules. And there just isn't room for the staff." He was very tired, and she noticed he was filling out some documents. She suspected what they might be.

"I heard the rumor," she said. "I was just surprised." He nodded, looking up from the papers. "May I take those to Captain Sisko when you're done?"

"No. I'll take care of it. Go and have a look at the new quarters before you leave. They are a bit smaller. I'll get some crates sent to your rooms tonight. Relocation will take care of the actual moving. Just label everything."

He was apparently too tired to lecture her. Of course others had been and she wondered if he'd been making an example. But she waited to be dismissed. Willy wouldn't have minded. But now, she knew better.

Crossing into the dust cloud she found a small cluster of completed buildings. One of the crew was approaching. "You sure are working fast," she remarked.

He was one of Sisko's people. "We're told it gets pretty hot later. Easier to do this now. Anyway, they want you out of the other section soon, and I bet you'd rather have this than tents."

"That's true. I'm supposed to look at the inside of one." She wondered if they would have really done that if they hadn't had the crew to build so quickly.

"What's your name? They're already assigned."

"Lonnie Broadman."

He looked at what appeared to be a semi-legible paper list. "Okay, you're in MR-4. You must have priority."

"I'm Dr. Willman's assistant." She followed him to one of the identical units.

He pushed the door open. "Welcome home."

She looked around the box shaped room. Off to the side was another small room, where a bed had already been placed. She sat on it. It felt strange.

A bit smaller was quite an understatement. Shelves would help, but it was still going to be cramped. The bedroom section had a small window built into it, but that was all it offered in ambient light. "Could I get my own bed? This one feels uncomfortable." She smiled her best smile at him. He smiled back.

"Sure. I think I can swing that. Whoever gets your room will complain, but that's somebody else's problem. I need a list of what furniture is to be brought, too." He handed her a handful of stickers. "Post these on whatever you want moved. Look, I have to get back to work. Stay as long as you want."

She heard the door shut behind him. She sat on the bed again. Whoever got it should like a hard mattress. Studying the room, she tried to envision her things around the walls but couldn't. It would be a challenge to find places for it all, but if she could she would leave nothing behind. To not would be no different than the Jem'Hadar and their searches and what they'd left so sullied she could still not bring herself to touch it.

She'd bring it all. She'd find somewhere. But it was all she had, and she would not lose any more.

o0o

Sisko finally found Willy in his office staring at a small stack of documents. "I guess I don't have to make an extra trip now," said Willy, looking up, handing him the documents. Glancing at them, Sisko realized they were death certificates. He counted them, finding ten.

"I guess it's been a bad day. I was hoping to surprise you with some good news."

Willy didn't look any happier. "Come back tomorrow. There are at least that many that aren't going to make it. I'm afraid you're going to lose a lot of your people."

Sisko handed him the tricorder. "Would this help?"

He didn't react. "Not for them. No less than Starfleet Medical would, probably. We should just have just let them go before, but I had to try."

Sisko allowed himself to let his guard down for a moment. "I just wish we'd tried to fit them in." He could hear the drag in his voice. "I know it wouldn't have worked, but I wish we had tried."

Willman was wearing his professional face when he looked up at Sisko. "Okay, I'm playing doctor now. Captain, you did what you had to. You can do all the second guessing you want, but you can't change it. What really matters is *now*. Vance is done. It's all on you now. You have a lot of responsibility, and you'll not be able to make them if you second guess the past."

Sisko felt the sting of the rebuke. Because Willman was right. But he didn't know if he'd ever stop wondering if it would have made a difference. "Thank you, Dr. Willman. I'll remember that." He allowed the subject to drop. "Speaking of doctors, how is mine?"

"He's on the lucky side of the room. It's going to be awhile, but he'll make it."

"Can I see him?"

"Not now. I'm keeping the area off limits for visitors at the moment. I can't isolate individuals so I have to isolate all of them. But I'll pass on your concern."

Sisko looked at the papers in his hand. "I suppose I have something to do."

Picking up the tricorder, Willy turned it over in his hands to examine it. He studied the special seal. "I really didn't think it would work. But whatever reason he had, I'm glad I tried."

"I hope it helps. And, umm, remember, *Ben*, not Captain." Sisko managed a weak smile. "I won't call you Leonard."

Willy made a face. "You know, most of the people here before you came don't even know who that is. You already know my deepest secret. Sure, *Ben*." He managed a weak smile as well.

Sisko slipped the records in an empty folder on a nearby table. "Remember, Willy. You're as responsible for what happens here as I am. We need to work together."

The doctor nodded, vaguely picking up a paper. "Keep in touch," he muttered as he went back to work.

Sisko retreated, glad to be away from the place. Willy could lecture and make comments, but deep inside he was as terrified as Benjamin Sisko about the future.

o0o

Lonnie had stopped at her rooms-her old rooms, she corrected herself-to drop off the stickers before going to lunch. There was very little to look forward to with meals anymore. The new shipment of food had arrived and while the little round cakes were a change from the Federation version, it wasn't an improvement. They were chewy. They were nutritious. Willy had confirmed that with the tricorder. But they didn't have much taste. She had gnawed on one for breakfast and still had little chunks stuck here and there.

But somebody had a large pot of something boiling, and it smelled good. She wandered near and found a heap of rations and dried vegetables being soaked in separate pots. One of Sisko's people was stirring the larger pot, standing on a bench. Several people were mincing the soaked rations, underlings from the Ag department. It was the first actual mixing of groups she'd seen in other than an official capacity.

One of Sisko's people noticed her standing there. He dipped out a bowl full of the stuff and offered it to her. It was reasonably thick and smelled all right.

She accepted a spoon and took a taste. "Hey, this is good," she said, surprised.

"Thank the chef," said one of the mincers, pointing at the stirrer. "By the way, has anybody seen James? I don't have any records of his getting any meals since we got the new supplies." It occurred to her that she hadn't seen James at all in the last few days. "I've got to pack," she said with a sigh, "but I'll go and check." She joined several people at one of the tables, enjoying the treat, but was worried about him. He'd been living for the day he could leave. She was afraid he had just given up. She hurried her lunch so she could check.

o0o

James's door was unlocked, but he didn't respond to her knock. She called his name, but he didn't answer either. So she opened it and came inside.

A pile of his ordinary things still lay on the floor, heaped in disarray, next to the bed. He was asleep, one blanket half over him. She stepped quietly around the bed and discovered an easel, with a half-finished drawing of a park, and trees he was just beginning to add. His art supplies, in contrast to the other things, lay in careful order, organized in whatever boxes he'd found. Stepping carefully around the art setup to the bed, she gently shook him awake.

He stirred, staring at her still half-asleep. Curling back into his sleeping position, he murmured something unintelligible. She shook him harder this time, finally getting his attention. He looked up at her, his eyes young and scared and lost. She stared at him, locking eyes. "When did you last eat?" she asked.

There were tears in his eyes. "I don't know. Go away," he sobbed out.

She shook him again, giving him a stare. "No. I can't go away. You are going to get up and go get some food. Now," she said as she pulled him to a sitting position.

"I'm not hungry. Just leave me alone." This time he was angry. He tried to pull away but she had a firm grip.

"No. Get some clean clothes on," she said, beginning to remove the paint soaked shirt. The pants were a mess, too, but she wasn't worried about them. She grabbed a reasonably clean shirt and handed it to him. When he didn't put it on himself she began to do it for him.

"I can do it myself," he said angrily, yanking it out of her hands. When he was done with the shirt she handed him socks and shoes. When he was dressed he continued to sit on the bed. "I said I wasn't hungry," he said again, this time resigned.

She looked him over. "You're a mess, James. Your clothes are filthy. You need a bath. And I bet you have hardly been out of this room since the transfer. I'm not going to let you hole up here like some hermit until Sisko has you and all that stuff moved."

He looked protectively towards the picture. "Half . . . half the stone was broken. I'll need all of it for the water now."

He was projecting an enormous pain and it hurt, but she didn't let it show. The last thing he needed was sympathy. "And you'll lose more than that if you keep this up. Come on, James, let's get you some food."

He looked longingly at the painting he was creating, and then at Lonnie, who was more determined than ever. He carefully hopped off the bed, and around his art. "Okay, but I still don't want it."

"That's perfectly all right," she said, guiding him out the door.

o0o

She left James sitting at a bench with the mincer and the stirrer keeping watch, eating his second bowl. He had declared he wasn't hungry again on the way, but once the bowl of soup was in front of him he had agreed to try it. He came out of his shell, at least a little, and was slurping it down too fast. She was half-worried he'd eat too much and make himself sick. But that was today, and she was concerned that without something to do James was going to go back to being a hermit.

She tapped lightly at Sisko's door, hoping this wasn't a mistake. A minute later someone opened it and she noticed several people were there, both from supply, involved in what appeared to be a personal conversation. She almost lost her nerve. Sisko motioned for her to come in.

She introduced herself and Sisko nodded. "Dr. Willman has mentioned your name. What can I do for you?"

She had heard that he was short with unexpected visitors, but seemed very accommodating at the moment. "It's about one of our people. I'm very concerned about him." She hesitated to say more.

The tall woman with the spots and her companion began picking up their things. "This can wait, Benjamin," she said as they left the room. She heard the door close and Lonnie took a deep breath.

"Sir," she began, "there is a young man, just sixteen, that was here as a guest of Mr. Vance. He was here because his family was breaking up, and while he put up with us, he didn't like being here. If things had worked out he'd be leaving in about a month to go to a prestigious art college. Art is really all he cares about, especially now."

"I met him. James, I believe. He did some work for Vance," said Sisko. She noticed a picture of a younger version of Sisko, a little older than James, sitting on his desk.

"James. He asked us to call him that. Really, though, with the exception of a few people, he wasn't close to anyone. He did gofer work for Mr. Vance, or the like. He is very conscientious about it. But since the transfer, he's barely been out of his quarters. He just sits and paints. I made him get dinner, but I can't do that every day. He really needs something to do, and to stay in the room he's in now."

"Why does he need that particular room?" ask Sisko without any sign of being upset.

"He has his masterpiece set up. It's rather large, and I'm afraid it would destroy it to be moved. But I think that is all that's holding him together."

She noticed that Sisko was looking at the picture of the young man, guessing it to be his son. "He did a lot of good work before. I'll add him to my staff. Tell him to be here first thing in the morning. This," he said, indicating the sea of paper sitting in little clumps, "needs to be organized. He was pretty good at that. I hope filing is among his skills."

"He's very organized. He should be good at it."

"Good. I've got plenty for him at do."

o0o

Lonnie found James still eating, but slowly this time. Letting him finish his last bowl, she watched as he pulled himself up, the empty bowl in his hand. "Wait a minute. You've got some housekeeping to get done-that pile of stuff you left on the floor. You'll need something clean for your new job tomorrow."

He stared at her as he started home, dropping off the bowl first. She followed and didn't let him close the door without letting her in.

Carefully leaving his art in tact, she helped with his more mundane possessions. She started by sorting the pile on the floor. She pulled the dirtiest clothes out of the rest, but found a few clean things for him to wear the next day. "Tomorrow, we wash clothes," she insisted. "But now you get a shower."

He kept glancing at his picture, his gaze lingering on the trees. "I'm fine," he muttered, making for the easel.

"No, shower," she ordered. All the while he kept looking at the painting. "If you insist," he muttered finally, going into the bathroom and shutting the door. When she left, she knew he'd go straight to the easel, but tomorrow at least he'd be ready for work.

He came out of the room already dressed and headed towards the painting shirt, draping it over his clean clothes.

"What job?" he asked without looking at her.

"You work for Sisko. He's got a mountain of papers to organize."

"Oh," he grunted. He returned to the pile on the floor, finding a splattered blanket which he draped over his legs as he arranged himself to paint.

"You don't lose this room," she told him.

He was mixing paints. He paused, suddenly staring at her. "His file clerk?"

"More or less," she replied.

"I start tomorrow?" he muttered, back to his paints.

"First thing after breakfast."

He grunted a little, not looking up. "I guess . . . ."

She watched as he mixed a small vial of paint. "Try to get some sleep," she suggested as she let herself out.

She went to her rooms, hers for one last night. Slowly, she started packing her things. She didn't think of her life, but tried to remember that James might not give up now, and if he could make it she could too. Tomorrow, they'd take all she owned and cram it into a little box. But she'd be close to work. She wouldn't have to walk through snow in winter to get home. Maybe it would

work out.

And they'd already taken what mattered most. She made sure all but the next day's clothes were packed, one box left unsealed for her sheets and nightclothes. Maybe it would be easier to leave this place since it was so filled with memories she needed to forget.

end,Legacy,Year 1,Part 1-3,Chapter 9


	11. Part 3Lessons Chapter 10

LEGACY

An Alternative History of the Dominion War

Year 1

Part 3- Adjustments

Chapter 10

The last remaining step before the Dominion could leave them alone would be the most traumatic. Once the identification tags they had to wear were issued, none could escape the reminder that they had lost all semblance of freedom. Most people had already read the rules, and it was generally concluded that it wasn't as bad as expected. But the tags would be hard. Even when sleeping they must be worn. The Dominion could track them at all times.

But first, each tag had to be keyed to the individual. The personal information and DNA samples already collected had been combined with residential information, and ten days after the Dominion appeared came the final reminder that they were prisoners.

That day's orders were that all persons would stay in their assigned living quarters. They would be called together when it was time.

The hospital compound was the first location processed. The patients were processed first, each given a temporary tag until they either died or were released. Even the dying were listed, though most of them would never know the difference. Ninety-eight of those in the crash had now died, as would a few more. The dying were left together, given what could be afforded to keep them comfortable, but treatment had been suspended. Nothing still available would save them.

First, they were tagged. A small device keyed the little tag to their DNA, so when they passed their deaths could be properly recorded. Lonnie followed the Jem'Hadar as he touched each in turn, verifying the names. Willman had ordered her to do it. He had explained that the Vorta did not participate, but his First did. In their world, she was the same.

She didn't like being compared to the creature, but it was clear that nobody disagreed with Willman anymore.

Then they moved on to the surviving patients. Lonnie nervously verified each name, hoping they didn't decide to take Bashir this time. The device was briefly touched to the scalp, a small beep indicating it matched existing records. Then there was a little whirl, and the tag was done.

She pinned them to the patients gowns. She didn't look in their eyes as she did it, not wanting to see her own reflection. She tried not to touch the small device attached to her collar. She knew it didn't hurt since she'd been the first to be processed. It was not the sort of distinction she wanted to have.

She pushed away her feelings when they reached Bashir's bed He was awake, staring away from them. He was afraid but trying not to show it. She was careful not to act any differently than with the others, but didn't have to worry. He never turned his head her way.

"Bashir," grunted the First.

"Julian Bashir," she said as calmly as she could, but inside she was afraid. The First touched the device to his head and the machine beeped. Then the little whirl came and he pulled off the tag.

She took it from him, fastening it to Bashir's gown.

It was easier after that. She had to verify the staff's identity as well, Willman the last processed.

The First left and Willman called her to his office.

"You did well." She didn't bother to sit.

"Will they be back?" she asked.

"We should hope not," said Willman, slipping a little into the man she'd known.

"I'd like to check the patients," she said, hesitantly.

"He's asleep. Don't wake him. But make sure he gets his lunch."

She was dismissed. The staff was pretending nothing was different, but she could feel the wall open and the world change as she retreated to the small room that had become her office to fill out the papers that rewrote their world..

o0o

Sisko assembled his entire staff in the small square. It wasn't ideal, but he wanted them to be close to him. He wanted the First to know he was busy and needed them back to work.

But waiting was hard. It was threading to rain, and he distracted himself by considering where to put a covered eating area. There was one empty warehouse, the one that had held Vance's machines. Perhaps it would make a good mess hall, and some shade could be added outside for good weather.

It was miserable waiting outside in the spring rain. It would be worse when it was cold. He was composing the report on the project in his head when the First approached.

"Benjamin Sisko," declared the Jem'Hadar First.

"Yes," replied Sisko more hesitantly than he intended to.

The device touched his scalp briefly, and he felt a small twitch. Mostly, it felt cold. In a moment, the device beeped. The second Jem'Hadar removed a small round object with a clip and fastened it to his clothes.

It had been so simple, and there was no pain. But he went numb inside.

His people wore communicators on the station. They could find them most of the time that way. The Dominion device did the same thing. But this would be very different.

You could take off your communicator. If you weren't on duty nobody minded. The little round tab had to be worn always for if it was removed, it transmitted a warning. Anyone who took the chance could face having one injected internally. If too many refused, that would happen to everyone.

Glebaron didn't say, but it could track them. Sisko felt like an animal being cataloged and branded. He welcomed the numbness that pushed away that image.

The two Jem'Hadar proceeded down the irregular line.

Most were too wary of the Jem'Hadar to react too much, especially with the armed guards that stood a short distance away. James had not noticed at all, lost in his own world. He didn't even finger the tag after it was attached. Jadzia had remained perfectly calm, with the same half-smile she usually wore. Her reaction deeply disturbed him. Vance had come, not officially assigned to Residential but now moved to the smaller quarters Sisko had been using. He held no position, but until he moved to his own quarters, he was Sisko's headache. He'd not even looked at the Jem'Hadar as they tagged him, but instead glared at Sisko.

Blanchard was quiet and a little stunned, but otherwise well behaved. O'Brien had hidden his resentment well. Eventually they had proceeded to the last person and released them to go about their business. It was almost time for lunch and the larger area with the biggest population hadn't been started.

It was going to be a very long day. Somehow, Sisko expected them to send masses of Jem'Hadar to finish it soon. But it was too telling that nobody refused or argued.

If they needed them, the Jem'Hadar could return in a heartbeat and everyone knew it.

o0o

Residential had been given a reprieve for lunch. Miles and the supply people were allowed to bring in the food, families required to eat outside their homes or tents. Then they had to wait to be tagged before they could leave the section, however..

To speed things up, the area was divided into four sections. Miles, Jadzia, Sisko, and Blanchard were assigned to work with two Jem'Hadar each.

Jadzia stood behind the First. She didn't know why she'd gotten the distinction of accompanying him, but followed calmly, checking off a list of names as the soldiers did their work.

She felt nothing. The people hesitated as the Jem'Hadar approached, this time without guns drawn, and submitted to the tags. She could tell they were afraid. Later, when the Jem'Hadar were gone, they'd think about the real meaning of the little tags. But this was nothing. If anything, it had taken up a day that, for many, would have been spent lost and drifting.

Later, she knew, it would be different. She couldn't look at the faces, knowing their nightmares were just beginning.

They tried to take each day as it came. Some had found work, helping Supply or digging the trench. Some had volunteered to take food to the sick. Already, little bits of organization had formed in a sea of nothing.

Others, already dubbed Floaters, helped when someone was needed and they were in the mood. More might have done that, but there wasn't enough to do.

There were still too many people. She'd started a list of those who wanted work, matching skills with tasks and trying to use as many as possible.

Today, following the Jem'Hadar, she imagined the people she was trying to help watching with suspicion, but tomorrow when faced with another long day and a little round reminder of their captivity, they'd be glad to have something to do.

The afternoon went quickly. The four appointed helpers watched as the Jem'Hadar disappeared when it was done. Miles stared ahead, his face grim. Blanchard was relieved, ready to run.

Sisko watched as the others left, people disappearing inside their little homes, whatever they might be, to privately deal with their grief.

They were the losers in this war and could not forget now. He approached her, watching as she gazed at the hospital. "At least it's over," he said.

She couldn't reply. In her mind the darkness that awaited her was all she knew. But Curzon pushed it aside.

"For now," she muttered, "Or perhaps it's just beginning."

The darkness returned, and she reached for the little tab. "I know," said Sisko. "Do you want to talk?" he asked.

She shook her head, not even Curzon's cynicism enough to chase away the vision. The sky had changed. The hill had a fine coat of native grass, and the path was well worn. There were voices around her, grim and defeated, as she was taken by a terrible wariness softened by an immense peace.

She didn't reply, drawn by the vision and yearning for the peace.

She heard him ask, his voice full of worry, "Old Man?" as she fled to the sanctuary of her room.

Curzon understood. Jadzia held the letter Worf had sent, staring at the walls of her new quarters when the day was done. She didn't belong. But she drew from the Others inside her to fill the time until it was over.

Perhaps she'd be missed. Perhaps they'd remember her as one of the traitors. Her vision of the future had too many clouds to see clearly except that she had no part in it.

o0o

Lonnie curled in bed remembering the day the Dominion had come, that long day spent in the square with rifles pointed at them, unsure of what to expect. Today had almost been an anti-climax. The soldiers had been so calm. She knew they didn't have to flash rifles to make a point anymore. The little tab was clipped on her old, loose shirt that she liked to sleep in. Her room was pitch dark. The one small window was blocked by another building so unless the sun was shining there was no light. She felt the tag with her hand. It was as if she was the princess in the old fairy tale with the pea. She could feel it near. She remembered the tingle as the instrument touched her and the tug on her shirt as it had been attached.

This time they hadn't touched her things. Nothing was broken and nothing was different. But she was changed. The last illusion had been shattered that day, by the Jem'Hadar and their tags and by Willman making her go with them. The grief swirling inside her was trying to get out, but she could not allow that. She had to be strong, but could not if she let herself grieve.

Willman wouldn't like that. So she lay staring at the darkness, wishing there was a place to hide.

But that was gone. They'd always know where she was. She imagined the thing could hear and see everything. Even in the dark room, perhaps she wasn't alone.

Bashir had tried to tell her how it felt to be afraid. She hadn't understood. But between Dr. Willman's rules and the enemy, her life was no longer her own.

Tears fell, silent and salty making her pillow too wet. Something dark and devastating, as is was being crushed and broken, was set free to fill her mind. For a few minutes reality came crushing in. But she couldn't stand the turmoil of reality, and made it stop.

And tomorrow there was work. Willman would expect her to be strong. If she ever let out the storm, she'd fail all of them.

The tears dried and she rolled away from the wet spot, and surrounded by a numbness that drove everything else away, she didn't even remember falling asleep.

o0o

For Megan, past and future had vanished. All that was was the moment. At that particular moment the transport had rumbled to an unexpected stop and the door slid open again. She stumbled out of the transport at the shouted command. She didn't remember how long it had been anymore, or how many different places they had stopped. Sometimes new women were added to their number, sometimes not. The collaborators were apparently picky. Sometimes they ended up in a large open cell for the night after being unloaded and were fed there, others they were fed and loaded and the transport continued. She didn't care anymore. She just did as told. There had been enough women added with stories she still wondered why she wanted to go on.

Devon had not cooperated. There had been little large scale opposition or resistance, it being impossible, but people were used to living on their own and taking care of things that way. They found ways. But even little things got punished with severity for everyone.

The countryside had been turned into a large, scattered series of camps. None were large, the better to control the inmates. Or break them. Some were better than others. Some were work camps and some were simply to punish. Locking people in solitary was common. Beating those who refused an order, then locking them in a cell until they died wasn't unknown.

She was glad things had gone as they had at home. It had been horrible but they had not had a chance to fight and the mass execution had removed any desire for it later. She wondered if that was a prerequisite to joining the small but growing group being hauled somewhere in the several transports they'd been locked inside.

The other was being young, pretty, and at least to start out, relatively healthy. Their youngest was 14. The oldest was her, just turned 24. And they were special.

For there was an experiment being done on Devon. The Collaborators in the uniforms were being tested to see if they could buy them sufficiently to keep control. So far, the hatred of them far exceeded that of the Jem'Hadar and so did the payback when it was displayed. She didn't know if this amounted to success, but it seemed to be working. Everywhere they'd been there had been more of them, nicely dressed in black or blue or tan uniforms. A few of the women had been taken, but before, with guards from the camp they were in. But there had been no interest in the ship full of women from any of the guards so that did not seem to be the reason they had been chosen for the transport, and the mystery remained. And she suspected that most really didn't want to know.

Last stop, a large camp dead center in the prime agricultural area, most of the prisoners were engaged in forced labor. But they'd been unloaded and checked over by a doctor, dressed in blue. She wondered if they were copying the Starfleet colors. Some of the women hadn't returned but apparently despite being filthy and covered with crawling insects she was okay.

They had heard the word there first, "caltie". It was the collaborators new "designation" as seen by those below them. Some of the others had come with marks on them, identifying a caste. She did not think of the future but knew someday she would bear one too. A mark was by then the lesser of the things to fear.

o0o

Five days after the tagging, Sisko opened his first official meeting as the head of Cyrus 3. It was a small gathering, with only the necessary department heads. There was something almost surreal about it; they might have been in the conference room on the station. There would be other meetings, with more details, and assistants to record them. But this one was not for that purpose, nor for those ears.

The day before, Sisko had told his assistants he was unavailable, and spent the entire day in his office making preparations. Much of the day he'd worked on a special speech, but now that it was time to give it, he chose not to. There were important things to be said-things he didn't want to discuss and they didn't want to hear. The questions he had to ask would be uncomfortable with ramifications neither wanted to consider. The speech was to tell them why. But reading it over that morning, he found much of it unnecessary. After the tagging, they must already know how difficult their positions were. It had been two weeks since the Dominion arrived, and he could already feel the distance people put between him and themselves.

Vance was still in his temporary quarters, and Sisko was going to speak to Ops about making sure that was remedied soon. He took a special route avoiding both his old quarters and office when he left in the morning. Sisko was ready to stick him in a tent if he had to, but those who were of the same mind as Vance would take too much notice. Miles would be informed the next unit completed was his. As most of them were larger units he'd have roommates, and Sisko felt for them.

But he still wondered if it was wise to let him wander away to Residential where he could vanish into the others and be harder to watch. Vance wouldn't have had anything to do with his new government, but perhaps an offer of something tempting might have kept him from being able to hide.

Sisko envied him sometimes. He wished he could say no. But it had been absolutely plain that he did not have that option.

The meeting started shortly after breakfast, the small group arriving early. At present there were only four departments and five officials. The sat in a row of chairs facing Sisko.

"Welcome. I know this isn't easy for any of you. But I thank all of you for your effort, given the circumstance. We *must* maintain authority here, or the Jem'Hadar will come and do it for us. If you find the responsibilities too hard, speak to me and I'll find someone else. But even if no one else can, please understand how much I respect all of you for having the courage to sit in this

room."

Jadzia looked around the room, rather curious. Miles glanced at his shoes. Larson, the newly appointed head of building, bit his lip a little. Willman stared straight at Sisko and Blanchard occupied himself with his report.

Sisko knew Jadzia would stay. Miles would as well, though he would never talk about the more practical reasons. Willman certainly understood, and Blanchard was too wrapped up in he and Vance's project to not follow up on the results. Larson was the only real uncertainty, and he fumbled with his hands as if deciding.

None made any comments, so Sisko moved on. "I believe it's time for department reports."

Larson spoke first, and Sisko wondered if he decided to get it over with early. He couldn't keep his hands still and kept pausing between words that normally didn't require one. "We're proceeding as planned, Sir. The residential area for the medical people is finished. The main area is about half-done. We're grouping the units in sections, with some space in-between, but since we have to relocate the people on the building site first, it's slowing down the process."

He looked relieved when he was done. But Sisko gave him his full attention. "How long do you expect it will be until it's completed?" asked Sisko.

Larson didn't want to be wrong, but didn't want it to sound bad either. Sisko could see the fight inside him to come up with the best answer. "A month, perhaps. No more than that." Sisko thought he was rushing it a bit. Then he took a deep breath and surprised Sisko. "I have a question, Sir."

"Yes," said Sisko, curious.

"We're going to have leftover materials. We'll need a place to store them if they aren't going to be used right away."

"Talk to O'Brien after the meeting." Miles shook his head, but Larson was obviously relieved to be done.

Sisko nodded at Dax, the next in line. "Distribution of food is going well, though we've been getting a few complaints about the taste. We've also set up a soup pot for those who wish to contribute. It's quiet popular."

Miles started his half of the report as soon as she finished. "Ops is running smoothly, and the shipment we got had everything we were promised."

Sisko wished he'd call it something else. It was too much of a reminder of the station, and just how much had been lost.

Blanchard started next, without being asked. "The area we terraformed seems to be developing well, and I believe we will have an entire valley for use next spring." He was clearly holding back more than he showed, but his tone was calm and steady.

"Thank you, Mr. Blanchard. Let's hope you're very successful." But all the while Sisko worried. Vance was a patriot who wouldn't taint himself with a hint of collaboration, but Blanchard cared so much about his project he'd have run it for the Dominion if they asked.

Willman's face was grim. "We have had a lot of deaths in the last few weeks, mostly those from the crash. But aside from that we have the staff resettled, our supplies were complete and the staff is getting a handle on the new instruments."

Sisko nodded. "That's everything, unless someone has something to add."

Nobody did. They could have sent him a quick report on paper, but it wouldn't have meant as much. It mattered that they'd come to his office and declared their positions to everyone.

But Sisko had one last thing to say. "This is a very difficult time for all of us. We have been given authority by Glebaroun to enforce the rules we didn't establish. They aren't especially difficult or unusual, but if we accept the authority we also accept that we must follow the rules. And we must be willing to make others follow them as well. This won't be easy, people. But we all know how much it matters." He looked at each in turn, his grim look leaving no illusions. "I think we're done. Except for this. I will not ask again. If any of you wish to pull out, you have until this time tomorrow to do so. I, personally, was not given the option. But it is my choice to give you the chance to pull out now." He paused, watching them.

He continued, "You must understand what I expect of you, should you decide to stay. We have had rules imposed on us, most of which are not unreasonable. But you must make sure these rules are followed. You will have a certain amount of disciplinary authority within your departments should they not be. If this is not sufficient you may refer people to me. But you must understand that you are responsible for the behavior of the people in your own departments. It isn't my job to discipline your people. And in exchange for this, you do not have to deal with the Vorta. Now, does everyone here understand this?"

Larson looked a little stunned, "Yes, sir."

Willman gave Sisko a private look of support, and said, "That is quite clear, Sir."

Dax and O'Brien agreed. Dax was unreadable, but O'Brien looked uncomfortable. Blanchard paused, as if he was going to say something. But he simply said he understood.

"Good. I'll be here if anybody has anything to talk about."

He watched them, a battle raging within him. He'd only known Willman a short time, but already counted him a friend. Dax was one of the oldest friends he had, and he cared deeply about O'Brien. Larson was unfamiliar and very nervous; but had come from the station, and was still one of his own people. Blanchard was largely a stranger, but that presented its own dilemma.

He'd hardly slept the night before, wondering how he could ask them to do this. He could already sense the gap between himself and the others. As the commander of the station there had always been a certain amount of isolation. But this was different. This space was not so easily broached with dinner parties. It was not just the hostility Vance had shown. It was the nervous

hesitation with which he was approached, and the formality with which he was addressed. He was separate from them, and with his special office and suite of rooms measurably privileged as well.

He could live with it. He didn't like it but he understood. What was disturbing, even if expected, was the aura of distrust and fear he could already sense. He had less authority than he'd had on the station, but that had been freely accepted. In a sense, this was as well. He had made his choice to accept the position before the Vorta had insisted on it. He had slept badly since, uneasy over the cost.

What he couldn't explain to them was the belief that he *must* take the responsibility. He had brought them there. If anyone should have to live with the compromises and isolation it should be him. But he was uneasy about the others. They were friends. He wanted them in the key positions because he could trust them, but he knew he was sharing the separation he already could see. He offered them an out, although out of personal loyalty he doubted they would take it. Larson looked very uneasy, and he almost hoped he would accept. Blanchard was an entirely different matter, and the wariness he felt about the scientist concerned him. But he preferred that to the uncertainty of taking his friends into the same abyss.

"Before we end this meeting, does anyone have any last questions?" They shook their heads, and he dismissed them. "Then we're done for today."

Larson was the first to go, clearly in a hurry to leave. Blanchard took his time, standing by the door for a moment, glancing at the others, before stepping outside. When he was gone, Jadzia turned to Sisko and smiled. "Join me for dinner?" she asked.

Disturbed by the resigned look he saw in her eyes he chose to accept. Perhaps she'd give him a clue to what was going on inside her. But the way she looked at him, and the cynical cast of her eyes suggested she wasn't alone. O'Brien paused, and he caught his attention.

Miles came up to the desk. "You need something," he said, a bit distracted.

"Just a request. Next habitable space you finish, make sure it goes to Vance."

There was a small gleam in his eye. "Got a single going to be ready today."

"Good," said Sisko, as the Chief went back to whatever had been preoccupying him before.

But Willman stayed. He waited until the door shut and Sisko started poking at the papers on his desk to explain. 'She's very calm. I know she's an old friend, but is she all right?"

Sisko slumped down in one of the chairs. "She'll manage. She's had a lot of lifetimes. Her last host was a very practical old man named Curzon. He'll keep her going."

Willman was curious. "I've never met a joined trill before. I suppose you're right." He paused, relaxing a little. "But that's not all. She lost someone. She won't let go."

"She had somebody she loved. He left with the Defiant. She already knew she wouldn't see him again. I am worried about her. If you've got any suggestions I'm open to them."

"Time, I guess. She's got plenty of company." He sat down and looked at Sisko. "We've got more important things to discuss. Vance, for one."

Sisko nodded and watched as the doctor left. Vance would not just accept things, thought Sisko could not say why he was so sure. But there must have been a lot of Vance's other places. He could imagine the kind of hell it could become. He only hoped that somehow those on Cyrus would miss that part.

o0o

Lonnie had just finished rounds. She had delivered the small round tabs from the three patients to Willman's office, attached to a form that would officially record their deaths. In a day or two, the barriers could be moved and the space used for the other patients, but for now they would wait for the last few of those who had survived the crash only to take weeks to die. It would not be long. Only four were left. One-hundred and six of those who had been on the Antelope had died.

She sat in the office, filling out the forms. Willman would have to complete them, but she had filled in all the spaces but the actual cause of death and made sure the tag was attached to the form. That was important to somebody. Willman had made sure she understood how much it mattered. She only wished they cared as much about the living.

Some of them would have died anyway. Some of them, had they gone to a modern hospital might have made it. Those were not the ones she was thinking of, as she filled out the name on the certificate of death. It was those that just might have made it if they had not taken so much of the equipment. After spending so much effort to save them, she knew them as more than bodies in need of care. This one, a young Starfleet engineer, had a wife who had been sent back to Earth; he had called out to her in his last hours while Lonnie held his hand. Once, he had looked up at her and obviously seen his wife. He had smiled, and begged her not to leave. Lonnie stayed as long as she could, until he had gone to sleep, and she hoped he didn't think his wife had

left him alone. That was all she could do for him, but she had given him some of her time so he would know someone cared.

She was tired, and angry, and frustrated. She knew better than to complain. Long before Sisko had called his meeting, Willman had called his own staff together to explain the rules. He understood their frustration, but he didn't want to hear about it. He was different, and as she listened to the lecture she watched his face. To Lonnie, he was a friend and a cherished mentor. But at that moment, he was neither. He was their superior, and what he said was law. Sisko had tried to soften the blow, but Willman had not. His staff had been very quiet since then, and Lonnie had only seen him a few times.

He had reorganized the staff as well, which had brought its own problems, merging the surviving members of Bashir's staff into his own. He had promoted some of the new staff above his own people and that had brought some resentment, which he had squashed in yet another meeting when the complaints had reached him. Lonnie sat in the back of the room, next to Bashir's head nurse, Jabara, and wondered where her friend had gone. Lonnie was now the second in the department, and Jabara directly under Lonnie.

She had finished filling out the certificates when there was a tap on the door. Lonnie was actually relieved to find it was the Bajoran nurse. She had come for some of the scarce supplies locked in the office, the key held by whoever was in charge and on duty.

Jabara had noticed the one certificate not with the others, and the way Lonnie was looking at it, and sat down for a moment. She placed her hand over Lonnie's, about to pick up the certificate. "Write the family a letter," said the nurse. "It doesn't matter that they won't receive it. It's for you."

"Thanks," said Lonnie, with a sigh. "I'm just glad it was you."

The nurse paused for a moment. "It's hard, for him too. He didn't make the rules."

Lonnie picked up the paper and put it with the others. "It's just not all that easy to turn off the feelings."

Jabara said quietly, as if remembering, "That is what the letter is for." She looked at Lonnie, "You need to talk about it. I mean everything."

Lonnie hadn't slept well since the takeover, unable to push away the frustration. She liked the Bajoran woman. "Well, I'm off tonight. I put my dinner in the soup." They agreed to meet at dinner. As Jabara was leaving Lonnie had a thought. "At least," she said slowly, "we get a chance to get used to it. What about Bashir and the rest of your staff in there? It's going to be very hard for them."

Jabara turned, looking her in the eyes. "Perhaps," she said quietly, then stiffened a bit. "But I think for them it will be easier. The hard place this will become will be done then. No illusions or escape. That is simpler."

As she retreated Lonnie watched, a little stunned by the change come over Jabara. Willman had mutated into something she hardly recognized, but the hill was the same and somehow the hospital despite the crowding was a connection. How would it feel if all you had was a strange new world because all the rest had been taken?

o0o

Megan followed the line into a building, expecting a cell and food and the usual. Instead was a hallway with a box and women standing ahead who were naked. She was pointed at the desk.

A woman wearing the tan uniform was writing something and looked up. "Strip and put it in the bin," she ordered, her voice not shouting or demanding but with every expectation of being obeyed. "Name?" she added.

"Megan Tattalin, " she said as she pulled off the filthy clothes. She noticed the woman didn't come too near. The bin was marked "contaminated" in Standard so she didn't expect the same old filthy clothes back at the end, whatever happened.

Something was attached to her wrist as she waited, and then she was sent forward. The line took a long time to wind through the extended hallway, the men looking them over but they were too filthy to worry about being taken. Megan simply shut down and waited. Just as she had forced herself to forget the children and the blood, she made herself not care.

Eventually, she reached the next desk, and the clamped on bracelet on her wrist was pulled off. She was pointed into a room and told to enter the decontamination room.

For the first time, a trace of fear got past her defenses. The door opened by remote control and she hesitantly stepped inside. There was chair and she sat. It leaned back in reclining position. As the door snapped shut and sealed she forced herself to feel how soft and comfortable it was rather then allowing the sense of being trapped into her mind.

The room had a loud buzz and some kind of scan was hitting her, and it itched. She shut her eyes tightly and clamped her jaws shut, fists pressed against the lining. It didn't last long but it exhausted her and when it ended she collapsed against the chair.

Then another scan, this one hardly felt. The first returned, but with far less intensity and she was scanned with the second again. She just lay on the chair, breathing slowly. She didn't want to get up when ordered by a disembodied voice.

But she forced shaking knees down and took her time so she could stand. If they didn't like it she couldn't help it as she felt so utterly drained.

"Fail" said another, clearly mechanical voice, and as the door came open she was pointed without being touched into a side room.

She understood when she entered. Smocked and covered attendants backed up by guards were waiting. She moved to the shower stall and took the pulley with one hand, as ordered.

The woman behind the shield was abrupt but impersonal. "Keep your eyes closed, hold your breath and hold your nose."

She complied, as a sticky fluid was sprayed all over her and inside her as well. It stank and soaked quickly into her hair and from the tingle, the skin as well. The woman gave her permission to breath and she realized it had dried. "I'll check in ten minutes," said the woman abruptly.

She kept her eyes closed but guessed they were getting rid of the bugs. The first place with the chair was probably where *they* were checked after contact with the inmates. The second with the spray was probably just used on the inmates. She didn't smile but the idea of the tan suited calties having to let the machine make them itch pleased her.

Aside from the standing, the smell had dissipated. If it removed the bugs she could cope. She hoped they had migrated to the calties first.

Time passed and she wondered if they were near their actual destination now. For they knew they were carefully selected out of the rest, and it had something to do with the calties and the experiment.

The second scan passed down her body and this time she passed. Then the shower came to life with a cascade of warm, wonderful water. A squirt of soap ran over her she was told to wash herself well.

It had been weeks. Megan allowed herself to forget about the watchers and clean herself properly, even allowing herself a measure of enjoyment. She could not deny it felt so good to be clean.

The water resumed, a pelleted mist which dissolved away the soap and rinsed her clean. The a jet of warm air dried her. She almost felt human again. Or would have if she wasn't abruptly ordered out of the room and back into the process of . . . what?

The next room had a chair and a group of calties standing behind it. She sat and it had a security bar slap against her, rather hard and with discomfort. The chair was leaned back, her legs spread, and head dangled down.

Someone in blue examined inside her, and they used some kind of wash. He ran a tricorder over her and nodded at the women behind her. "She's clear now," he said as he moved on.

She wondered what they'd offered to buy him. But she liked that she was at least for a time free of bugs and clean. The women dealt with her hair, rinsing it and combing it and eventually sitting her up. It was combed down and loped off just below her ears. Then a scan showed they had missed a few and they took forever with the comb scraped against her scalp.

She hated that they'd cut her hair. She had worked hard to keep it long. But it would grow, she told herself. If they were finally done and she was free of infestation she would lose the disappointment.

One more scan and she was pronounced clean. They stepped back, releasing her, and she returned to the hallway.

There was bin of clothes. The shirts were gathered and the pants drawstring, a sort of soft muslin. There was no underwear but she felt better being dressed.

Her wrist was grabbed and a bracelet snapped around it. It was so tight it would not move. But she followed the line of now clean and dressed and trimmed women into a new section of the building. They were divided up in groups of five and shunted into cells. But there were real cots and the cells were immaculately clean.

She sank into the mattress. It was hard and lumpy but it felt like heaven. There was a pillow and blanket. She was exhausted. They'd arrived in what looked like early morning and as she settled into the bed fell asleep.

It was near, what ever their part in this experiment. She didn't care right then if she could sleep in a bed and wrap her clean body with a soft blanket. Silence descended as the women gave into the luxury of their temporary world.

o0o

Willman and Sisko had moved into the smaller office and the staff had been told to hold everything. It was nearing lunchtime, and they were getting nowhere. Willy was doodling on a piece of scrap paper. Sisko was playing with his baseball.

The frustration in Sisko's tone was evident. "I *do* understand his feelings. If he doesn't want to work with Them I'm perfectly willing to let it drop. But I have a problem with the hostility. It's hard enough without that."

Willy looked at him, thoughtfully. "Walter isn't mad at you. They aren't standing there so he gets mad at the next best thing. It's not personal."

Sisko was rolling the baseball around in his hand, looking at the opposite wall. "That doesn't make me feel any better."

"It wasn't meant to. He's not going to be the only one. You should have listened to your own talk."

"Nothing like the one you gave your staff, I assume," said Sisko.

Willman wasn't smiling. "No. But I told them the truth. I never said it was pretty."

Sisko watched the doctor, thinking of where he'd been. "Maybe you're right. Once things get set up we'll have to have the junior people in. I'll let you talk to them."

"I can't, and you know it. Properly, it should be their supervisors. Look Ben, you can't hide from this. I'm glad Walter is out of the picture. I can't imagine the disaster if he wasn't. But sooner or later you're going to have to insist. It would be easier on everyone if it was sooner."

Sisko was still playing with the baseball. "I reluctantly agree. Hmmm, just how to you read Blanchard? You know him better than I do."

Willman continued to doodle. "As for Justin, I don't know. He's being awfully cooperative for someone who was going to terraform the place where most of your people live."

Sisko mused, "He did seem satisfied with the little field. Anyway, his equipment is gone. I agree, he's a little too calm, but . . . . "

Willman stopped doodling. He put down the pen and looked rather grimly at Sisko. Sisko stopped playing with the baseball. "Maybe. Ben, I've heard some rumors. I know what Walter was planning and I believe he carried out his plans."

Sisko enunciated each word, alarmed that his suspicions might be right. "What kind of rumors?"

"Contraband. I don't know who or how much but I'm keeping a very close watch on Justin. And this stays between us for now."

Sisko looked at the wall, turning the baseball around in his hand again, looking very grim. He thought of what that might ultimately require him to do.

"Thank you. Do you think They know?"

"I don't think so. If the truth was as bad as the rumors, they wouldn't have left like they did. But he's spent the last fifteen years of his life living off the project. It is very odd for him to be so agreeable now, what with all if it beamed away."

Sisko was squeezing the baseball in his hand. "That's what I keep thinking. As far as we can tell the inventory records were complete and they took all of it, but records have been known to be wrong."

Willman picked up the pen, scribbling little squares in the middle of his doodle. "Exactly. And it's so tempting if you knew where it was, just to see . . . . " He scribbled over the doodle. "I don't know how long temptation can be ignored."

Sisko looked even more grim, staring at the baseball. "Or they know already. And they're just waiting for us to trip the wire on the trap. Either way, we may have a major problem."

"Yes. And that is why you have to come down hard on everybody. Make them too scared to take the risk."

Sisko said nothing, but couldn't help but think of the price he would have to pay to try to save them.

o0o

His official designation was Dr. Leonard Willman, Department Head, Medical, of Dominion Colony 159-A, designation: Cyrus Agricultural Colony, Status: captive. He thought about that as he slowly made his way home from the meeting with Sisko, taking the longest route and all the time he could. For the moment, he was alone. He was allowed to be the man they had called Willy. They didn't call him that anymore. His staff took care to call him "Sir" and approached with caution. Others, except just a few, called him "Doctor". They looked at him as a stranger. He was not surprised. He was a stranger to himself.

He no longer enjoyed his profession. It had been about saving lives before. A week ago that had changed. Since They had come it was just holding back death. He had thought with the tricorder and the other instruments Garnet had left them that they would manage well enough. But he realized, faced with the growing death toll, that it was not the same. There would be too much

pain and too many dead and maimed, when there did not need to be. He would not forgive them for that.

But still, to his staff, he would be the stern master he had to be, and none would see the pain underneath. Eventually they would grow used to life as it was now. Some day their captors would be honest about what they were. But for now his stern and unbending demeanor was the only way he knew to protect his people from themselves. He would rather they feared him than to have to learn to live with the Jem'Hadar.

But he was worried, looking at the newly transplanted population they had acquired, wondering who among them understood. The Bajorans did, for the same reasons as himself, and perhaps those closest to them from the station. Or did they? Sisko had told him about his second in command, a Bajoran woman named Kira, and how she had grown up in the resistance. She'd learned to kill when most of the children of the Federation were playing child games. If the Bajorans were as hot headed as Sisko hinted, they might find a way to make havoc here.

They were trapped with family lost on Bajor. They didn't have anything to lose. And how many of the people who'd lived on the station with daily contact with them might do the same? If there was a way and a place to go live in the mountains and kill Jem'Hadar and blow up Dominion buildings how many of those on Cyrus would have found it?

Vance would have been there. He didn't know about Blanchard. Justin wouldn't abandon his life's work so easily. Willy was sure something was hidden in the caves. He didn't know what, but if they were lucky nobody would ever find it.

Sisko didn't understand what he had to do, the sort of man he must become. He knew, thought Willman, what the price might be, but he could not make himself into that man as easily as Willman could.

For Leonard Willman, waking was a revisited nightmare, thought long banished. He remembered all too well what had happened to those who had broken the rules, and did not wish to see it again. He'd be at the hospital in a few minutes and their friend Willy would vanish as surely and quickly as the enemy had. And Dr. Willman, a man despised, would take his place.

But for a few minutes, Willy was allowed to live and yet it hurt too much for more than that. Dr. Willman didn't feel and it was easier that way.

The hill was almost climbed. He straightened his shoulders and let his face go grim. His look hardened to one nobody would question.

He knew neither joy nor pain, but it was better that way.

o0o

Sisko had spent the afternoon in his office, catching up on paperwork but badly distracted by Willman's news. He kept asked himself just how far he could go. He knew the guidelines by heart, having read them over too many times. His authority ranged from putting someone on restrictions for a short time to virtually locking them in their room when not working, or official house arrest, for as long as he decided. The ultimate act of betrayal would be going through official channels and turning someone over the Dominion. It would mean deportation. He didn't want to know what happened then.

If Willy's rumors were true, it might come to that with Vance or Blanchard.

Distracted, turning these options around in his head, he heard a tentative knock on the door. "Come," he said.

It was Larson. He looked very nervous and hung back. Sisko was grateful to have something to get his mind off the problem.

"Sir, I had a few questions." Larson looked as if he'd practiced a few dozen times.

"Certainly. Sit down," he said, indicating a chair.

Larson seemed a little hesitant, but sat. "Sir, I think I want out."

Sisko wasn't surprised. "You have that option. Nothing bad will be said."

But he wasn't done. "Ugh, Sir, I don't want to quit. I have to have something to do. But I don't, I don't think I could manage the position I have now." He sounded worried that Sisko would have a problem with his request.

"All right, I'm officially accepting your resignation as Department head. But keep your job. We need you there. We'll just sub you under somebody else."

"Thank you, Sir."

He watched him leave the room, his relief evident, and wished he could solve them all that easily. He wasn't really in the mood to go to dinner with Dax, but had already agreed, and closed up the office for the night.

At the square, she was already seated in a far corner, both meals waiting for his arrival. He noticed she was playing with the ring until she saw him, then suddenly stopped. She sat straighter, her expression distant but interested.

At least she'd be quiet. He needed time to think.

She looked up as he approached. "Thank you," he said, sitting in front of his dinner. She watched him as he took his first sip, with the faintest hint of a smile. As he sipped the heavily spiced soup and then reached for his drink, she said "Surprise!"

Refilling his glass, he looked at the others in the square. "You can't tell me that all of them are having this," he said, enjoying another sip.

"Special batch. You had a hard day." She sighed, taking a sip of her own meal. "Both of us did."

They ate their food silently, lost in their own thoughts. Nearly finished, Sisko ask very quietly, "Do you know anyone who wants Building? It's available."

She ate a few more bites before answering. "I have a suggestion. Make Operations a separate department and move it there. We don't need the two of us in Supply."

"I'll ask O'Brien. If only we could solve them all that easily." Sisko looked moodily at the bowl, wishing there was more. The flavorings were varied, but aside from experiments, they kept the seasoning rather tame.

Dax looked perturbed. "True," she said, "but that's not for here. You're not here to worry, but to eat." She lifted up a small kettle, and scooped out another bowl for herself, serving him one as well.

Curzon had been like that. Jadzia hadn't. He could swear the old man was sitting next to him tonight.

She was coping. Maybe she was lucky she had others to call on.

They watched the people around them, minding their own business, as they ate. Congregated in small groups, quietly talking, he thought everybody was trying to make the best of it they could. In a year, or more, he hoped they would be doing as well.

o0o

Michael Emery had drawn the closing shift that day, and was reluctancy eating his meal alone. Around him were crates, and a hand written list of those who had signed up for the soup. All of it had to be ready for morning, the cakes and the vegetables soaking, and the lists of who got what prepared. His part was sorting out the food and preparing the lists.

The soup that day was rather good, he thought, but he missed the conversation. Meals were one of the few times that things felt even a little normal. His job wasn't that demanding, more dull than anything else, but while he spent hours sorting out lists and repackaging the little cakes that were their food, his mind wandered too much. It didn't taste bad in a soup, he thought. They were mostly bland when you ate them alone. But no matter how much they varied the taste of the meals, or how they altered the preparation, the variety was gone. It was, like the little round tabs, one of the constant reminders of reality.

He picked up one of the cakes, and examined it. Sealed in a wrapper it was, perhaps, three inches thick, and would have fit in a sandwich. It felt spongy, wet enough to chew through and firm enough to not fall apart. Three of them a day made up the full nutritional needs of an adult, but none of the sensory ones. The seasonings helped, and the dried vegetables, but that was the best they could manage for variety. He liked bread with his food; no matter how good the soup, bread rounded out the meal.

But there was no bread. They had discussed the possibility of growing some sort of grain with the Ag people, but even with the whole valley they didn't have the room.

He glanced at the clock, perturbed he'd daydreamed too long. Going down the list, he began sorting the food packets between bins. The lists would have to be recopied after he was done with this, and he would not get to bed until late, but the food prep people liked to talk. Sometimes, when the conversation was good, he'd volunteer to help them with their preparations. It was better than going back to a dark room alone.

He came to the last name on the list, then closed up the crates. There was a little of his dinner left, and he finished the now cold soup and moved it off the desk. He started the distribution list for the next day, recording the names for each separate list and a master. He had just finished when the food crew arrived.

There was never any conversation while they verified the counts; it was too long a process to do again, and the count had to match the list or someone would end up short. But Emery didn't want to be alone, and offered to help them out.

o0o

While Emery was beginning his shift, in an isolated corner Lonnie sat silently staring at her food. In her hand was the letter she had written to the young engineer's family, and she handed it to Jabara to read while she sipped her soup. It was good today, with a tang they usually left out. But Lonnie didn't really care what it tasted like. Tomorrow it would be a little bit different, but never much. All the tomorrows would be like that.

It was a long letter, and Jabara was taking her time reading it. Lonnie watched, now and then, and wished they could say the words openly that she had written. She had been angry when she wrote it. She had put in words all the feelings she had bottled up since they had first learned of the takeover. She blamed the Dominion and their rules for the death, but they were not alone. The Federation had killed him, too. They'd abandoned him, and the rest, to this cold hard world. Did his family understand? Did they go to the politicians and demand action? Did they speak out and call it betrayal?

She told them of the cost. Their son had bought their freedom. It was cruel, but it was true. If she could have sent the letter she didn't know if she'd be that blunt. But perhaps she would be. They needed to know, to not forget what had been done.

She was hungry. Instead of lunch, she'd written the letter. She sipped her food slowly, savoring the taste despite the grim turn life had taken.

She would get an extra bowl if there was enough left. They were supposed to keep track of who'd eaten when and she was still owed lunch. It wasn't the food she knew, but already she'd gotten used to the soup, and today's was special.

Why? Was it someone's birthday? Had the cook met an old friend and was in an especially generous mood? There wasn't anything to celebrate here, but that day they had.

She finished her bowl, picking it up and going for seconds. They knew she was Willman's number two. Nobody would deny her another bowl.

But she wanted to take it somewhere more private, and perhaps have a little talk with Jabara. As she had written the words, and the anger had taken form, reality had dawned.

Life was a miserable little trap, but she couldn't change it. She would go on and do the best she could, treating those who could be saved and comforting those who couldn't. The relief she expected didn't happen. Understanding it just made things harder.

Jabara had finally finished the letter, which she folded and put in her pocket. Neither spoke while she ate, Lonnie picking at her second bowl.

Jabara had been watching when she returned. Lonnie wanted to go and made herself eat. Several others had come for seconds and been turned away. Breaking the silence, she realized the server had forgotten something. "I told him I'd missed lunch. He didn't check."

"That isn't why you got it," said the nurse, looking at her collar.

Lonnie was uneasy about that, even if she was entitled to the second bowl. This one was especially good. The chunks of ration cake had shredded into small pieces, just like she preferred. She ate quickly though. They were all looking at her and she wanted to get away. Willman wanted her back after dinner for more papers, anyway.

When she had finished and they were returning to the hospital, Lonnie tried to explain. "You might not understand, but it wasn't like that for us, before . . . . " said Lonnie, carefully. "We weren't military. We were like a big family. If I was the Chief Medical Assistant it wouldn't make me important. It was just my job. Here I'd just be Lonnie. Now, now I'm this . . . . " She fingered the little staff badge. "And Willy, *Dr.* Willman, he was a friend. We worked together. He wasn't this . . . intimidating force."

Jabara didn't answer, walking slowly until they reached a place no one would be in earshot. She frowned. "Don't you see that he is scared? He's heard the same rumor's we have. He is trying to protect you the only way he can. He wants to see people doing their jobs and keeping their mouths shut."

Lonnie was very quiet. "I think I figured that out somewhere near the end of the letter."

"Why are we talking about this, then?" asked Jabara.

"Because I had to say it. I had to say something out loud."

Jabara said, very quietly, "It's a very good letter. Nobody here would disagree with any of it. But it's dangerous too." She pulled out one of the specimen bags they used for contaminated material. Lonnie watched as the letter was dropped inside and sealed up. They were almost to the hospital when Jabara cut to the path that led to the back entrance. Lonnie followed. They entered the hospital, near the disposal area where contaminated materials were destroyed. Jabara handed the bag to Lonnie. She paused a second before dropping it in the chute. Truth, she thought, could not be destroyed so easily.

o0o

Emery was tearing apart the little cakes, sitting around the large vat they'd be cooked in, when he realized he was actually enjoying himself. The food crew was small, and worked mostly late at night when the rest were forced inside by the night and the curfew. During the day they slept, and only now and then were they a part of the mass of Cyrus's new population. They served the food they cooked, and were otherwise left alone.

People appreciated the food. When the soup was especially good, the chef and his crew even drew praise.

It was different with other jobs. He'd already noticed that some of his neighbors pretended he wasn't there.

One of the women was telling a joke. It wasn't very good, and rather old, but he found himself laughing with the rest. Nobody joked where he worked. None were in the mood. Since he had received his little staff button, there was an invisible wall around him that many couldn't climb.

He'd even lost a few friends. But this was a moment to be savored. For a few hours, he was just Michael again. It seemed like a lifetime since he'd felt that way.

Another hour went by, and the "dog food" was done, as they called it. He wanted to stay, and listen to more idle conversation and laugh at a few more jokes. But the food crew still had hours of work to do, and he would need all morning to prepare for that afternoon's meeting. It had been an honor to be trusted with the supplies when they had first arrived. But everything had changed since the Dominion came, especially in the last week. Since they'd been lined up and tagged, his job had become a huge weight.

But he lived with it. Somewhere on Earth was the little girl and her mother he missed desperately, and to not have something to fill the hours would have been intolerable. But that night he slept better than normal. It was a terrible joke, and very old, but he smiled in his sleep as he remembered the way she told it.

o0o

Megan spooned the mush from the bowl, carefully holding the spoon. It felt odd, not only that their food was mush over the rations they'd been fed since capture, but that she was sitting at a table, using a bowl and glass, and the chair was comfortable. She didn't quite remember how that felt anymore. All traces of that had been wiped away that day the sirens had suddenly gone off, as if it had wiped her memory clean of the world before.

But it was less strange than the day before, when after they had slept they were awakened and led to the cafeteria. Standing in line they retrieved their bowls and took a seat. A glass of some sort of drink was provided. It was sweet and she wished there were seconds. The morning, from their leaving the transport to their first meal, still did not seem quite real.

Her hand kept reaching up, looking for the tickle on her shoulder of hair and feeling it as it fell evenly just below her ear. She noticed the women in their tan uniforms had short hair too. The men were well clipped, and smoothly shaven. They had gone to great lengths to make sure the women were clean and free of parasites, and they were getting three meals a day. A doctor had examined her that morning as well. Apparently she passed. She doubted they'd be chucked into a filthy transport again unless someone rejected them and they were sent to work along with the other survivors outside where it wasn't so nice.

She knew how much the ones in their uniforms were hated. Is this how they started? Had they been picked out of other groups of unfortunates and groomed so they looked right then were expected to act the part? Each time she touched her hair she thought about how it matched the women in their uniforms. Is that what she was to be? Would those outside hate her just as much even if she never had a chance to say no?.

But why? Why them, aside from being young and healthy? There seemed to be offices and paperwork–lots of it. She had done that before. Had all of them? If they failed at that were they rewards for the calties? Would they be given a chance to live like reasonable people and then offered the chance to choose between the filth and degradation or the suits?

Nobody talked about it. But there was a pile of books on the table at dinner the night before and they had all gone back to their cells with one in hand. She could not wait to finish her food and whatever else they had planned and read more. The books were familiar to them, from before. She gathered calties still had libraries. But they were print books. She had seen no evidence of calties with anything more than an occasional padd or the doctor's tricorder. She guessed that as this was still an experiment, they too were watched and eligible to go live in the dirt. She guessed it was incentive to behave after they grew used to living in a comfortable world again.

The servers, dressed in light grey but in simplified outfits similar to the calties, sat a bowl with a second spoon in front of her, taking the empty bowl that had held the mush. They also left a large glass of water with crushed ice. She picked it up to take a sip, the cold almost strange and the tingle of the ice fascinating. A taste of the cooked fruit in the bowl was better, sweet with a slight tartness and some unknown flavor. It did not come from Devon but she hoped there would be more.

Someone walked in, a caltie in a deep grey uniform, male and looking more official and secure than the others. She remembered the one who had taken the children and the taste grew bitter.

"Stand when you name is called and you'll be directed. You will be tested for skills today."

He vanished as the door slid shut behind him, and she took another bite. She hadn't thought of Chele and Tinni for a long time. They might be dead, or perhaps they had been given care. The fruit tasted so good. The cold water was refreshing and clean and pure. If the children had been left in the basement with nothing they would surely have died. At least, perhaps, they would have enough to eat.

Maybe even fruit, she thought, as she finished the last bite.

What would the cost of keeping a semblance of life like this be, she wondered, as the server took the empty bowl and filled her water glass again. What if she chose to pay it and in the end the calties were ruled a failure and returned to the dirt? Would it be worth it then, always looking over the shoulder wondering if someone was going to kill you?

The bracelet glinted in the light. The servers wore them. Those stationed at doors to point the way often did. But none of those in the official looking uniforms wore them. That was the difference, for the servers despite their bounty were still prisoners. If the experiment failed the others would be reminded that their freedom was just an illusion.

She sipped her drink, enjoying the half-melted flakes of ice as they teased at her tongue, and wondered if, when the moment came to choose, she might by then be willing to pay the price. She was still wondering when her name was called.

o0o

Sisko watched as James took the latest batch of documents, disappearing around the corner to the bank of cabinets. He couldn't imagine what he'd have done without James now. The young man had sorted and filed dozens of documents without any complaint or fuss. He never rushed or wasted time. Everything he did was methodical, with a steady pace and much dedication. Messages he was entrusted with arrived promptly. He was unfailingly polite. His work could not be faulted in any way But Sisko still worried about him.

He remembered how eager James had been to talk and explore their problems when they'd first come, and especially how he had helped make them feel that someone cared. He had worked tirelessly after the crash, impressing everyone. James had enormous potential as an artist and human being, given a chance to show it. But then the Dominion had come and taken that away. Since Willman's assistant had asked he be put on staff, James had worked very hard. But it wasn't the same as before. His bright spirit was drowning in grief. Everyone here had lost touch with home and family, but for James it was worse. He'd lost that, but his future as well.

He knew James coped with his loss by painting. He'd seen the picture once himself, mostly trees, but had heard there was much more to it now. James spent every free moment in his room alone. He had seen his staff take the young man with them when they went to lunch or he would have skipped meals as well. He only hoped that their efforts would be enough to keep him from losing himself.

o0o

Tarlan sipped the day's soup, hoping it was not so bland, and was again disappointed. He missed the food at home, and especially the spices. His wife had just the knack for seasoning things. He missed her, and the food reminded him of how much. But he was a practical man, and he appreciated his lunch, bland or not. The Cardassians had not been so considerate.

Across the table, Justin hurried his meal, impatient to get to the field to do the core tests of the most recent terraforming. "I wish we could borrow that tricorder of Willman's for a few minutes," Justin mumbled. He kept tapping his fingers on the table, and Tarlan was getting annoyed. Bland or not, he intended to take his time with lunch.

"Once we get the cores you can ask him." Tarlan continued to eat while Justin tapped impatiently.

"I'd rather not." Justin sighed. "It probably breaks some rule, anyway." But he had stopped tapping. "I can compare it with the old cores they left."

Tarlan had been watching Justin while he ate. He knew how much more useful the tricorder would be. He liked Justin, but he was worried. Willman had been asking a lot of questions, and it bothered him that Justin was wary of the doctor. He wondered just what it was that Justin was afraid of.

o0o

Somewhere in the room behind him, James and Rafferson were moving things around, making room for new shelves. He could hear the murmur of voices and an occasional thud as something hit the wall. He had offered to help, but he hadn't finished the morning reports yet. So he sat shuffling papers instead. Things had changed, but for him they had also stayed the same.

There were a lot of differences between the Federation and the Dominion, but there was one thing they shared. They liked to keep good records. Randal Morris knew all about that. He had transferred to DS9 only a few weeks before the evacuation, and had never really learned his way around the station. But he knew his way around the records they required.

He checked the clock again, and it was two hours before lunch. He might finish this pile of work before then, but he was sure there would be another waiting for him when he returned. He had come to DS9 to find some adventure, and after a very brief and intense few weeks, had found himself back where he had started, sitting and writing reports.

He had done well in the Academy, but the thing he did best was write. His talent had not gone unnoticed. Upon graduation, he had been appointed an administrative aide to an admiral. It sounded good, but the reality was he spent his days sitting preparing an endless stream of documents. Someone had noticed how well done they were and he had ended up with a promotion. But his job didn't change. Eventually, the admiral got another aide to do the standard paperwork, which helped, but it wasn't what he'd joined Starfleet to do.

It took him three attempts to get a transfer. The first had gone nowhere, and the second had fallen through at the last minute. With the impending war, the admiral had not been able to stop the third transfer. He had gotten to DS9 in time to end up stranded on Cyrus.

He'd been surprised when Sisko called him in. The transfer of power had been only days before, and he was still stunned by the events. He had too much time on his hands. But apparently, Sisko had already noticed his last post back on the station, and remembered the name. When Sisko had asked him to join the staff, it was almost a relief. It was better than staring at the grey soil. And, in an odd way, the job was comfortingly familiar and different. There wasn't much difference in the words, but it was still a novelty to write them with a pen on old fashion paper.

But the novelty wore off. It was still better than staring at dirt, but he'd already started to hate the piles of reports. A few mornings, he wondered if it wouldn't be better to dig the moat instead. There was someone to talk to there.

He found it very ironic that even after all that had happened, he was still stuck in his old rut.

But that changed the day they'd been tagged. He wore a small round pin on his shirt that denoted him part of the colony staff. Nobody had been hurt that day, but everybody had been marred. Life would never be the same as an animal that could be tracked.

His neighbors had ignored him the next day. He'd been relieved when Sisko had asked which of the abandoned quarters in the old section he wanted. It set him apart even more, but all of those who lived near shared the same isolation. They'd come from various duties, but that was an important bond between them.

And the most isolated was Sisko himself. Randy had noted that he never went out to eat, but one of his old friends brought dinner instead. What sort of reception would Sir have gotten had he joined the rest? There was little sign of open hostility, but when the staff went to eat, the rest made room for them by leaving.

Glancing at the clock, Morris decided he'd made good progress. In less than an hour his current stack of papers was much shorter. The door opened, and Rafferson entered, James in tow. "Why don't you quit for a while and we go get some lunch?"

"Sure," said Morris. James started to protest that he wasn't hungry, and before he could get away from them to his room, they towed him out the door.

o0o

Tarlan's suspicions continued to grow as the afternoon progressed. Taking the cores had been simple. There was not much more that could be done, and no real reason to stay. But Tarlan decided to look over the test area and eventually Blanchard followed him to the most deserted part of the field.

Tarlan stopped, and looked at Justin. "Justin, be careful. I don't want to know what Willman might find, but I hope what I hear isn't true."

Justin looked at him, and smiled. "Jaro, you know better than to listen to rumors."

Tarlan frowned at the smile. "What if they aren't rumors? Justin, you don't have any idea what this could lead to. If these things do exist, leave them alone."

Justin looked offended. "Are you insinuating that I lied?"

"I'm saying your behavior is very suspicious. It's the smile. It's the mood. Haven't you noticed that nobody else is smiling?" Tarlan was almost certain that some part of the rumor was true. If Justin had something to do with it, he didn't want to know. But he had to know how much danger he was in.

Justin shook his head. "Look at this field. This is my legacy. If we never make another one, this proves it can be done. I've worked for fifteen years to stand on a field like this and I refuse to not enjoy my success."

Jaro understood, but feared others would not. "You deserve it. But you can't just ignore the rumors. They won't ignore them. Please, ask Willman about the cores at least."

Still unperturbed, Justin sighed. "If you insist. He probably won't do it anyway." He glanced upward. "They won't ignore this either. The project isn't dead. It's just waiting. These things that might exist aren't important. What matters is that the knowledge still does." Justin stopped, looking toward the settlement, a small bit of concern crossing his face. "Do you actually think there might be danger?"

Jaro was relieved. "Yes." Fingering the small ID pin he wore on his earring, he continued. "This isn't a game. They own us, Justin. Nobody is willing to say that, but think about it. This field could not possibly feed all of us. The only other option is Them."

Justin had stopped smiling. He looked out toward the dunes where the Antelope had crashed. "For now. But if we could make more fields, it might be different."

"And if we tried, we would be dead, or worse."

"Yes, now . . . " Justin's voice trailed off as his eyes glazed over again. "But maybe not later, when we rework the process so it doesn't need all that technology. It was always intended to be simple, and by normal standards it is. But if we work at it, we could make it so much better. He was nodding to himself, filled with budding ideas that a part of Tarlan could understand.

Then Justin stopped and looked at him, his eyes very intent. "I know everything there is to know about the process. A lot has never been recorded." There was excitement in his eyes. "Jaro, I want to share it all with you. They can't possibly argue with that. And perhaps between us we can find a more practical way of making this place liveable."

Jaro just stared at him. The idea was terrifying, but very seductive too. He respected Justin for his mind, and it flattered him that he would be asked to share in this knowledge.

He told himself that passing on the knowledge wouldn't break any rules. They weren't going to restage any of the old research, not that the technology existed anymore if they'd wanted to. But he also knew that They didn't *need* a reason.

He'd survived the Cardassians by being careful and cautious. But he'd never been a free man then. Swallowing the fear, he embraced the adventure. He couldn't go back to the Jaro that had lived before freedom, any more than Justin could understand what kind of risk they were taking. But life had to mean something. It wasn't much, just keeping a dream alive, but most of them

were already gone. This one deserved to live. "I would be honored," he said.

Justin sighed, thinking ahead. "We'll compile a good history, and follow it through, see what we might have missed. Testing could be a problem, but there's a lot to do before that. I did little tests in my lab for fifteen years before we made this field. I'm sure we'll find a way." He didn't smile, but his look of satisfaction couldn't be denied. For Justin Blanchard, there was a new challenge. And for his friend, Tarlan Jaro there was a sense of self-respect, tinged with fear, he did not even know he had lost.

end, Legacy, Year 1,Part1-3,Chapter 10


	12. Part 3Lessons Chapter 11

LEGACY

An Alternative History of the Dominion War

Year 1

Part 3 - Adjustments

Chapter 11

Deep in the wastelands left behind by the Cardassians, concealed inside a cave that had sheltered other secret travelers, Kira Nerys nibbled on her dinner. A little ways away, where the map could be laid out flat, Odo knelt, holding a small portable light. Other than the two bright circles from the light and the fire, the cavern was pitch dark.

She and Odo had been traveling slowly and carefully across Bajor, backtracking and keeping to the wastelands. She had a special destination. All she wanted was to go home, to Dahkur Providence. It was still very far away, with many, many days travel before they had to leave the caves and their relative safety. Beyond that lay uncertainty.

Since leaving Keiko and the children to others, it had been the goal.

It was a perilous one. Dahkur was terribly far away and would require crossing many areas where control by the newly imposed government of Bajor was tenuous at best, and when it failed the Jem'Hadar made up the difference. If there was no active resistance, the Dominion soldiers simply patrolled. But while in most places that had proved sufficient to guarantee relative peace, not all were willing to wait until they had gone. Then, the Dominion imposed punished of the village or town by destroying everything.

They would not allow Bajor to claim the sort of victory they had over Cardassia, even if it meant eliminating the Bajorians

Those who remembered stories of the early days of the Cardassian occupation desperately counseled caution. When the new rules were followed, backed by either Jem'Hadar or the pupped government, life was far more liveable than it had been under Cardassia. But there was no leeway granted. The Cardassians had been brutal to everyone, but the Dominion was selective. One incident of resistance and whole villages were destroyed. If some clemency was granted, the survivors were deported to unknown destinations. If not, everyone died. Resisting as they had the Cardassians would simply serve to destroy the Bajorans people, who would then be replaced with others deported from other conquered places.

Kira understood. But she had been separated from the life she'd led before the Cardassians had gone. It had changed her. Others had acted out of old habit and the belief they could stop the Dominion, too.

Kira and Odo, until they could not avoid it, kept away from everyone. For them, the price of capture was far too high a risk.

According to their records, Odo believed, she was already dead. If they found her she would be executed, but not before she had been tortured and interrogated. She knew far to much about the families hiding in scattered places to take that risk. And for Odo there was an even greater danger. The other changelings knew he was on the station, and would eventually look at Bajor when he couldn't be found. He and Kira had agreed from the start that his presence would be a secret between them. His kind was probably looking for him by now, but even if they had not been hiding out of sight, he would be the bird in the sky or the animal slinking along in the brush. But there were other changelings as well, and they too might be soaring the skies when his form transformed. If they found him, he would meet some fate that made death seem far more desirable.

He shut off the light, making his way towards the fire. Sitting next to her, he watched as the embers glowed and the fire danced in its shadowy light.

"Are we still on the right path?" she asked, tiredly.

She had finished her small meal and moved closer. He put his arm around her and she relaxed into his arms.

"Yes, but we're not very far along the passage way. It's going to be a long walk before we even get to the river."

The river was perhaps half the way along, and where they would have to cross for a short ways out of the cave. Anything could be waiting for them.

She turned towards him, lulled by the dancing flame and illusion of safety. "I'm not in a hurry."

He moved back, and they were lying next to the fire. His arms were around her. She pulled him closer and let everything else fade.

Later, he'd sleep and slide away as he reverted, but he'd still be near. For a little while the dreaded day when they must separate was delayed a little while.

o0o

Kira woke, sometime later, the fire burned down to embers. Odo was stirring it enough to catch the small stack of fuel that he had lit. He had caught her breakfast and handed it to her impaled on a stick. Behind him, a tied sack of scrap wood lay with their packs.

"Did you go out?" she asked. The caves had small passageways to the surface and he had taken to exploring. She did not dare. Though unlikely, there might be watching eyes. Even with the great care Odo took before he changed his form, each day they retired for the night still safe and alive they counted a victory.

Generally, out of necessity, Kira traveled alone. Odo stayed near, but always in some other form. Sometimes she knew which of the creatures around her was him, and sometimes not. On the rare occasions when she had to pass through inhabited areas, he circled around her pathway. Loneliness haunted them. So, in a sense, the desolate wasteland they were passing through was a kind of oasis. It was only an alternate route taken because of the Jem'Hadar, but with the caves they could, for once, risk traveling together as companions.

Odo unfolded the map as she ate her food, warmed over the small fire. She remembered when she was young and had first run from the refugee camp and had first eaten the large insects. Then she had almost lived off of the creatures. The soft glow of the waning fire was the only light, and thoughts had turned to memories and things not spoken of in the daylight. Gazing into the fire, Kira sighed, softly, "I thought I was done with this," shaking her head. "Ten years ago I might have planted that bomb myself, but now I wonder if the Khon Ma knows what it has brought down on us."

"The people in Rezara know." Odo looked at the fire as Kira poked it with the stick and a few sparks flew. The local farmers had had a bad crop. Their new overlords required them to trade it to the new Central Authority, who were running the day to day things under Jem'Hadar approval now. But they had so little and had refused..

One day, a new government would have some alternative way to deal with it, but it was only in its infancy with no real authority now. Instead it was seen as an act of resistance. The Jem'Hadar had come. The farmers had been rounded up and enslaved. The land was taken to house other species being brought to Bajor, the survivors of other planets that had crossed their masters. Away from home, they had nothing. The Bajorans would be shipped away, too, where they would be alone.

Disobeying the rules was all that mattered. Other villages with worse crops had given them away after Rezara. There was no reason to save a crop if it would cost them everything that mattered.

Kira jabbed the fire again, harder, and more sparks flew. "It's frustrating. Everything I've ever been taught says we can't leave this kind of thing alone. But what do we do about it?" She slowly pushed the stick into the fire, gazing at the glow. "Somehow, there has to be some hope."

Odo watched the sparks as she pulled the stick free of the fire and its end glowed a little before fading. "You can't fight them like the Cardassians. That should be quite obvious. To *some* I would hope at the least."

Odo had lived with Bajorans most of his life, but he still didn't understand them. She said, patiently. "Maybe not enough." She swirled the stick a little, fiery spatters of light growing and dying. "What else, then?" She looked at the embers, growing dimmer like her hopes for freedom from this new oppressor.

"Something . . . quiet, invisible," said Odo sadly. "What purpose will fighting this enemy on Bajor serve when everywhere else opposition is met the same as Rezara."

"It is what we do," said Kira, waving the glowing stick around in the darkness. The embers glowed brightly in the small breeze.

"Then your people are doomed."

Kira put the stick into the fire, watching as it caught and the flames flared for a time. Then they vanished as surely as her people and culture would if there was not an alternative.

"That's what I'm afraid of," she whispered.

As the fire slowly faded, Kira retrieved her pack, pulling out a few things she wanted for the day. She repacked her blanket, folding it around something she had brought with her on the ill-fated short journey of the Rio Grande. Odo watched, wishing the cave trails ran further than they did. He would not leave her side tonight. It would be too short a journey through the caverns before they had to separate again.

But as the fire softened to faint glow, he wondered how long and how many dead Bajorans it would take before the survivors realized this enemy was very different than the last. He feared it would be too many. And he vowed to do his best to see that Kira was not among them.

o0o

Megan stood looking at herself in the mirror, dressed in the new clothes they had brought that day. She would begin her new job tomorrow, and now she had the uniform she would wear. She had unpacked everything first, the three uniforms, the off duty clothes, even a fluffy bathrobe and slippers. Once upon a time she had had all this–of her own choice, of course. But they had taken it away and stripped her down to nothing but herself. She understood they were remaking her, and the clothes were part of that. But the robe was soft, the off duty clothes comfortable and attractive, and the uniform fit so perfectly she could not have imagined it was possible.

It looked just like the ones that those who had interviewed her wore, except it was light, almost silver-grey. The material was soft with body and a great comfort against her still roughened skin. Her new roommate Darla had also received a packet of clothes, the uniform identical but a soft, light blue. She had training in medical terminology and would be working in the records office of CA Medical.

They didn't call themselves Central Authority, but just the shortened form of CA. She was sure they'd heard the word "caltie" but they didn't use it either. Looking at herself in the uniform she tried not to think about the implications that would be visible to anyone who saw her. Inside those in the light colors wore bracelets, taken in and put to work without being asked if they wanted to. Nobody could see the bracelets but they were still there. She would be just a caltie, worth nothing good, to the people outside in the passageway between buildings. She was grateful that they couldn't see anything but a shape, If things went wrong maybe she had a way to pretend she hadn't come from there.

But standing, looking in her mirror, she thought of the day she'd come home to Devon and started her new job. She'd traveled and now she was ready to settle down. Most of her day was forms but she liked it that way. Most of Devon was land and plants and dirt and she had never been interested in that life.

Now, again, there would be forms. Many of them if the desks where she was interviewed were any indication.

Five rushed, tense, exciting and daunting days before, the grey suited caltie had told them to come when called and she had been one of the last. But the next two days were spent sitting at a table being tested on subjects which were quite normal to her, but methods which were not. She had never used a real pen and never written on paper. But the reports they produced had been her daily life. She guessed that trust extended only so far as need be with the calties, and computerized stations were no longer deemed necessary.

But she could tell more than one of the bosses wanted her, even if their head people had not been there. It was very flattering to be wanted because of something she did very well. For a moment it had felt good. For a moment she had allowed a small measure of pride to slip through. But behind it she still knew the bracelet told the real truth, as did the mounds of paper. She belonged to them more implicitly, but the ones sitting behind the big desks did too, just liked to pretend they didn't. If they'd been trusted they would have had work stations and padds.

That night, after one last round of interviews, she still slept well. In order to go to their offices she had to pass through the door to reality and the wire fences and the distant misery. All of them were owned. If she could be owned a bit more comfortably there wasn't anything so terrible about it.

Darla was now dressed in her light blue uniform, identical to her own, and she looked at the reflection. If she was on the cold and dirty side of the fence she knew the word she'd use to describe them, but she wasn't and the small tinge of guilt faded away.

The morning after the last interviews she had awakened feeling less tense than in a long time. Even if things changed and she got dirt at the end, she had food and a clean bed and something to do for now. The bracelet would define the truth and she could live with that.

Breakfast that day was followed by wardrobe, being measured by grey suited women using the digital tools they had used in the before world. She imagined it was easier that way and wondered if the clothes were still replicated. She wanted something of their lost world to still exist.

She'd left dressed–fully dressed with underwear and boots, in something they called an off duty suit and a bag with more clothes for sleep and undergarments and several different pairs of boots.

Somehow, dressed properly, following the guard was a tiny bit less intimidating.

The short walk was to an office, this one with short, neatly stacked layers of paper and a caltie in a mid-grey suit. He wore no bracelet. She was told she was assigned to clerking duties in Supply. She would report in two days for her first days work and would receive the proper wardrobe the next day. She was to try them on and verify they fit properly when she received them.

She and Darla took off the uniforms and complied, delighting in the other clothes just as much. Darla had lived on an Ag settlement and it had long been her dream to escape. The clothes themselves were a sign she'd made it. Megan would have qualified that, but she would find out herself in time.

After the short meeting and wardrobe came the best surprise. She and a group of others had followed a guard out a different door, a different direction. Across a shielded walkway was a dormitory. She had been sent in to their room first, Darla later. It was small with a bed and dresser and area to hang clothes for both, and two desks. There was paper and pens for them. She had sat on the bed, a real, full bed this time, sinking in with wonder. Even better, down the hall was a cafeteria with real food, and even a choice, and next to it a day room, with various entertainments, and a small library.

Her world would be confined to a building, but then so would that of those suffering souls outside. She rubbed the bracelet to remind herself when troubling thoughts came. Since the clothes and the dinner the night before and the evening spent watching movies she hadn't had anymore.

Megan knew she was being bought but at the moment hadn't cared. If she sat and filled out forms or dug grimy dirt it was still working for them. It could still end tomorrow with dirt and insects, but tomorrow wasn't there yet and she would not worry about it.

o0o

The small office was a sea of paper. Tom Rafferson was finishing the monthly tally of supplies, meeting with Carl Jackson to obtain the inventory figures he needed to complete the form. Jackson, to whom the job of maintaining the supply records had fallen, sat with a stack of scribbled lists. In a few months, this would become automatic, but this was the first time they had done it and it was taking hours. Rafferson had to record how much of each item supplied had gone to what department. Jackson's records were not organized by department. So they had sat for hours shuffling paper.

Next month Jackson would have everything recorded properly. But both of them were tired, and it was getting hard to concentrate. They dared not make any mistakes, and tomorrow they'd have to review it again, just in case. But now it was time for a break.

They shut the door of the small, stuffy office and decided to take a walk. It was late afternoon and the temperature had started to drop. Jackson was getting cold. "I'm still not used to these temperature changes. It was always the same on the station. After five years, you get used to that."

Rafferson said softly, "At least they don't control that." He and Jackson sat down on one of the benches near the food crew. It was in-between servings, though there were a few lone diners, eating their late afternoon dinners. "By the way, I have a complaint. The food was much too bland today. No life at all."

Jackson grinned briefly. "Oh, just wait until tomorrow. Carra has crew duty. She doesn't do bland."

"I'll spread the word. You'll be busy tomorrow."

Jackson sighed. "We're always busy. But I guess it's better than doing nothing."

Rafferson didn't answer. Finally, he mumbled, "I guess."

Jackson looked at the early diners, and noticed one was staring at them, especially Rafferson, who had already noticed. "He looks familiar," Jackson said in a low voice.

"I used to work with him. Most of Vance's people quit. I'm one of the few that didn't. We're . . . considered sellouts." Rafferson looked bleakly at Jackson. "You're lucky you work with supply. You provide dinner".

"I started right after we got here. I really never thought about quitting," Jackson said. "Why did you stay?"

"Mostly because I liked Sisko. I thought Vance was being unfair. I don't like his attitude. Sisko is trying to be realistic. I guess Vance would rather see us starve. Of course, he never misses his three meals a day."

"Just think of the attention he'd get if he did," Jackson commented.

Rafferson shook his head. "I wouldn't put it past him." He looked up at Jackson. "Or something equally effective. I mean, what are we supposed to do? Do we refuse to fill out their reports and not get any supplies? Do we put the supplies in a warehouse and work them on the honor system? Or would he rather have the Jem'Hadar handing them out?"

Jackson sighed. "I used to work with someone at the station, one of the Bajoran engineers, and one time we got into a conversation about the resistance. Oh, he hated the Cardies. But he didn't think much more of the resistance. His family were farmers. The Cardies would set quotas or they would take the land. They'd just manage to reach them, and the resistance would come and destroy their crop. So the Cardies would go somewhere else to get their food, and the farmers were heading for a refugee camp. That's what happened to his family. Both his parents died during an epidemic the year after they ended up in one. It's never as simple as it sounds."

Rafferson asked quietly, "Did he make it?"

"He died a week after the transfer. His wounds got infected. There wasn't anything left to treat them. I went home that night, and almost quit. But then I remembered what he said about the farmers. I have a wife and two children. What happens to them if Vance and his type take too many chances?"

Rafferson looked thoughtful. "Would you silence Vance?"

Jackson took a deep breath. "I've thought about that. When I hold my baby daughter I think of her growing up here, as a . . . . " He paused, "But I do want her to grow up. I can't decide about Vance. He should have the right to speak his mind. I'm just not so sure it's such a great idea right now. I don't want my family to end up like my friend's did."

The two men were silent for a moment, when a sudden gust of cold breeze reminded them of how late it was getting. Rafferson sighed. "I guess if we want dinner we better get back and finish." Jackson nodded and they made their way to the paper sea, but this time they understood it was about much more than inventory figures.

o0o

Megan had dressed carefully, eating breakfast first and then changing lest she get her new clothes dirty. She wasn't alone. But she'd dressed somewhere between nerves and anticipation. The shirt she had been fit for had long cuffs, and they covered her wrists unless she reached up, and the jacket was cut the same.

She had even made sure to have her hair trimmed where it was uneven, just to look right.

Part of it was the walkway with the screen. Sometimes there were people nearby outside. Sometimes they stared. She knew they couldn't see her, but she could them, or well enough. As she'd lay in bed the night before she'd thought of the days when she had worked in an office, when it had defined what was normal. She needed to have something be normal but hunger and fear and dirt and insects. And nobody had asked her if she wanted to anyway.

So she stepped out, opened the door, and crossed the threshold that morning thinking of nothing but the day to come. It was almost unreal. With her arms down, she realized, nobody would know if she wore a bracelet or not. Of course, for some they were merely invisible.

She took a deep breath and met the guard at the door, showing him her new ID. It listed her name and residence and work area. He pointed her down a corridor and she followed the numbers until she reached the right one.

Standing before the door, she was suddenly nervous. What was she to them? A slave like the ones outside or something in-between? For a terrible moment she was ashamed of herself, but it passed. She could refuse but it would only change her life for the worse and improve someone else's instead. And they wanted her.

That was important.

She knocked, and was told to enter. She was too preoccupied to notice that she knew the voice.

But when she looked up she was stunned. Collette Ransen, her former supervisor, sat at a large desk covered in the now expected stacks of paper. She didn't mean to but stared. The room was empty of everyone but her and her old boss. And new one.

It was confusing and unreal and yet . . . comforting. Aside from its size, the desks being more closely spaced and the number more substantial, it could almost have been her old office. Ms Ransen was wearing one of the black uniforms. She swallowed the brief revulsion realizing the only difference was hers was grey.

"Welcome, Megan. I was looking over the list of candidates and saw you and was determined to get you for my office."

She smiled almost as if the Dominion had not come and murdered the government and starved people and were holding them as slaves. Megan looked at her and remembered how she had always smiled like that to staff and visitors. She wasn't quite as gracious with her rivals but that was private.

"I was only told this is Supply." Megan hoped talking was all right but was working on the theory that she would look at her staff as she had before, as useful little hands. She hadn't liked those unwilling to speak up."

"Yes, that is our main concern. We don't deal with the physical deliveries, just accounting for them. Most importantly, we track the use of supplies on these forms. You'll mostly work on them. Good thing is there is only one form. Bad thing is we track a lot of things so the right references have to be there. I know how precise you are and how accurate without being so slow. I'm very glad to have you on my staff."

She stood and Megan understood she should come forward. The woman offered her hand and they shook. Megan wondered if she could see the bracelet.

"Sit down, please. I'd like your desk here," she said, pointing at one next to hers, " since I may need forms you haven't set up yet quickly."

A tinge of nervousness making her tense, Megan sat at her new desk. There was a big stack of paper and a supply of pens. The chair was comfortable. She reminded herself of the alternative outside and forced back the nerves.

"I sent the rest of the staff out for a little while." Colette–she had always had her staff call her that before at least–had occasionally had little personal talks to those she considered especially useful. "If you'd been at work that day you'd be here already. We were detained immediately. I am told the rest suffered far more than we did. I did ask for them to find you as I wanted you with us.." So Collette had tried to spare her. Or had sold out quickly and wanted the best of her staff to as well. She wondered how many would come into the room later and how many were out beyond the fence.

Megan felt a surreal energy around her, the *day* being so calmly spoken of. Is it this woman that she had to thank for being sorted out of the rest and the children given a chance, or did the man have other ideas? She supposed she should reply but could think of nothing to say.

He boss fished around in a pile of forms and handed her five. They matched the stack on her desk except certain fields were filled in. Megan slid them over to her as they were placed on the side of her desk. "Are these my samples?" she asked.

"Yes. The form is the same but I need the specifics, what department, which source, various combinations. The number/letter combination in red is just my name for them so leave that off. I'd say, start with 25 each. I have reports coming in to process today so I'll need at least that many. Then go back and do fifty of each to be ready."

Megan was relieved to have something to do. She could not shake the feeling that despite the way their whole world had been ripped apart, Collette hadn't really changed. Her staff were still useful little minions and if you were good she'd do favors and be kind. If you weren't she knew how quickly you got fired. Except she shuddered to think of what they meant here.

She took a stack of the blank forms and began counting out stacks of twenty five, then fifty. Looking in the desk drawer she discovered folders and put the twenty five in a folder with a sample, leaving the fifty to the side. Colette looked on with obvious approval. Megan hoped she had many meetings to attend now, so she wouldn't be watching all the time. Recording the red designations on the folders, she stacked them next to her and began her work.

"No meetings this time, at least not many," said her boss. "I generally take lunch later but your free to take it anytime during the period as long as five of my staff are present."

Megan was already recording the first forms. She wasn't really looking at all the spaces, just the ones she had to fill. But there were many and it demanded great detail be recorded. "I am quite flexible about lunch," she said not looking up. But now others were entering, men and women, some in mid-grey suits but most in the light silvery grey tones. She didn't know any of them.

When they were all seated, she was introduced. She looked up and said she was pleased to work there. She didn't add that if that was all she did it would be mind numbing but there were certainly worse things in this world. But a cart with a stack of files arrived and as they were distributed silence filled the room, except for the quiet movement of papers.

Megan just concentrated on the forms and the spaces and looked forward to lunch, not the implications of the tension and the silence and wondered just how tight a leash CA was held under and how much difference there was, in really, between there and outside in the muck. At least there you could see all the bracelets.

o0o

Dinner was thicker as the shredded ration pieces got soft and absorbed more of the broth, and the soup turned into a stew, but neither man noticed. Justin had sent one of his aides to get their dinners, and Jaro felt a little uncomfortable about that. But he was far too involved in their discussion to want to take the time to go themselves.

The meal had interrupted the conversation, but had diverted it to more practical things. Justin had a lot of other things he was required to do. And it might look suspicious if Jaro was around the office too often. There would be neither the time nor the propriety to repeat that day's session. But they had to find a way. All the bleakness outside vanished when Justin remembered the first time he and Walter had laid out the concepts when they were both in college. Jaro had never enjoyed that kind of world, but he understood the power of their dreams.

Then Justin looked up from his stew and smiled. "You know, I have an idea. I'd like to appoint you my chief assistant. I'd be working with you all the time that way, on a lot of things. There would be no reason for suspicion."

Jaro was as flattered as when he'd been brought in on the project, but this was a different matter. "I'm sorry, but no. Personal reasons."

Justin looked disappointed. "You aren't going to be like Walter, are you?"

"I just don't make a good official. I've tried it." Jaro hoped he wouldn't have to explain the rest.

Justin appeared to be surprised there was a problem. "You would be my assistant. I'm the one with the big responsibilities. Please, it would be ideal."

Jaro tried to think of a different reason other than the real one. He respected the choice others made to work as staff when it meant working for Them. Someone had to. He had no problem with Justin's position. But he, himself, simply could not do it. He would work with Justin on the project, but not while wearing a little poison pin.

He had not done all that well in the Provisional Government anyway. He remembered all the work it had been. Under Dominion rule, it would be even more time consuming. "If I was your number two, I'd have as much work as you. I wouldn't have time for our research."

Justin sighed. "I suppose your right. We'll say you're helping with the field if anybody has questions. Shouldn't, though. Oh, I have the official designations in my department but I don't pay much attention to them. I'm not much for hierarchies. I try to keep things friendly. It worked before, and I don't see why it shouldn't work now."

Jaro wasn't sure about that. He'd seen the piles of documents others had to deal with. Sooner or later Justin would be happy to delegate as much work as he could. If he didn't, they would have no time for the project. "If there is no other way, I suppose, " said Jaro thoughtfully. "I served under the Provisional Government, briefly but . . . without notable success."

"Well, if we must I'll find some sort of title that will keep you from too much notice. Perhaps some specific duty. You won't have much to do and we will have a reason for you to be there. That is *if* we must, of course."

Justin hadn't been hit by the barrage of forms yet, his department being relatively inactive, but Jaro was sure that then he'd be just as busy as the rest of them. But then, deep inside, a part of him wondered if that would be better. "Yes, if," he replied, a little ashamed of himself that something inside him hoped it would be.

They finished their food, but it was late. Jaro excused himself to go home, since he had gotten stranded in Justin's quarters twice and did not want to tempt more trouble. He watched Justin as he moved towards home, his mind still full of memories and the excitement of their possibilities.

Around him, there was nothing else that resembled a dream, just a nightmare. One day Justin would discover that and the intensity of his vision would fade. As much as Jaro didn't want to see it, he wanted to share that shining light as long as he could manage. When the dreams were all dead, then the dreamers might well be.

o0o

Sisko was buried in stacks of paper. Almost any of the mandatory reports, no matter which department filed them, needed his stamp of approval. Virtually anything sent out to Them had to come from him, and some days went half way into the evening as well. He wouldn't finish the stack that day, even if he stayed late. He pushed the little pile he was working on out of the way and prepared to retreat to the little office he'd taken from Vance where he could relax in private.

But someone knocked on his door, and he sat back in his chair. "Come in," he said, a little disappointed. It was probably more work or a new problem. All he'd wanted to do was spend a few minutes away from the mess. This was still not the heap of last minute documents for month end, he knew, but that was less than a week away now.

But instead of one of his aides with work, Rom and Leeta stood waiting for permission to enter. "Please, come in," he said, standing to greet them.

Rom scrambled inside. Leeta was more hesitant, but stood next to him. She was holding Rom's hand and squeezed it hard.

Prompted by the hint, Rom stepped forward a little. "Sir," he said, his nervousness betrayed by the squeak in his voice. Leeta was still holding his hand, but not so hard now. He stammered a few times. Leeta was watching him, giving him an encouraging look. "Sir, we would like you to marry us."

It was the nicest request Sisko had heard since leaving the station. It made him forget the pile of work and what it represented for a moment. "I would be honored." He smiled at them. "It would be a pleasure." Leeta didn't look enthused, but the transparent relief of the Ferengi more than made up for it. "When do you want to get married?"

Leeta spoke this time, a little more reserved than Rom. "We were hoping in a few weeks, when the new meeting area is ready." She added, with some hesitation, "We have no idea what is required for permission."

That was somewhere behind his stacks in a file cabinet, but it was fairly simple. "You fill out a form. I'll make sure you get one. I'm *not* going to say no, so just relax."

Sisko smiled again. It was odd to smile.

Rom responded, this time with less enthusiasm at the mention of the form. He was familiar with the piles of paper already. "I assumed something like that. Thank you, Sir."

"The deck sounds like the perfect place, too, and I'll make sure the date is set when we're done. I'm sure that will work. I can certainly make time for a wedding."

Rom gushed, "Thank you, sir."

"Let me know which day." Rom looked uncertain, as if he was ready to go. But Sisko wanted them to know he appreciated the two Ferengi survivors, and how much they all missed Quark. "Oh, I've gotten good reports on both you and Nog. O'Brien is very happy with his work. And Dax commended you on your ideas." Rom shrugged a little, probably unused to compliments. Then Sisko grew somber. "And, of course, my condolences on your brother's death."

Rom looked away, and Sisko thought it must be hard to be the nearly the only surviving Ferengi. Leeta took his hand and pulled him closer. Rom started to mumble something, but Leeta answered. "I'm sure Nog will appreciate the compliment," she said and Sisko wondered if she didn't. "I guess if Quark had made it, he'd be running the restaurant." She almost smiled and he thought she looked like the Leeta who'd worked for him, for a flash. But only for a moment. She retreated into her reserved, almost submissive stance again and he guessed she would rather not have been there.

But she'd come for Rom. He looked up, rather drawn. "Thank you, sir, for remembering."

Sisko nodded. "I think Leeta is right and we're all a little poorer for it."

"You must be busy, sir," said Leeta quietly.

She was looking at the mound of reports. He stared at them, himself. "Yes. Just let me know when you'd like the ceremony. I'll be prepared." He picked up a few sheets of blank paper, nicer paper that was normally used only for reports. "Why don't you write up a formal announcement we can post. Invite everyone, if you want. We'll make it a celebration."

She took the paper. "That would be good," she replied, but there was a certain reserve.

They left, Leeta nearly pulling Rom out the door.

Sisko looked forward to the wedding. But, facing the mounds of reports, he wondered if the Emissary would be as popular as he might have been before. But at least they had asked. He only hoped he wouldn't dampen the occasion.

o0o

Julian watched Willman as he pulled back the bandages that covered his leg. He couldn't see much. Most of it was hidden in the leg restraint. He wasn't sure he wanted to see what was left. He knew about the two main chemical cleanings and the other surgeries. He knew how bad it still hurt. He just wasn't ready to deal with the future. Willman had talked about his therapy, and learning to walk again once the healing was complete. He hated being confined to this bed, unable to move his hips or leg, but he could read between the lines when Willman talked about how hard it would be. He already had guessed. Even with the best of Federation medicine some recoveries were not that easy. He wanted out of the bed but didn't look forward to the ordeal that would take.

Willman was re-wrapping the area, soaking the bandages in disinfectant. It stung, and for a few minutes he forgot about the future in favor of the present. He winced when the brace was fastened again and his hips were immobilized. The only good things about examinations were when he could relax his back for a few minutes while the restraints were loosened.

Willman finished his tugging and pulled the sheet back over his leg. He sat down in the chair next to the bed.

Julian waited for the bad news. He already knew Willman's expressions. This one said things were not going right. "It's healing, but very slowly. I'll do another evaluation in a couple of weeks, but you should be fine in the new Recovery unit. At least it won't be so crowded. We'll be moving you later today."

Julian was surprised and relieved by the news. He had heard the rumors, of course, but nobody expected to be moved this soon. "How long will I be there?" he asked Willman, knowing there couldn't be a real answer but needing to ask anyway.

Willman surprised him. "You'll be there a while. This is going to take a long time to heal." He looked at Bashir, very seriously, "You might even consider yourself lucky when you get well enough to go to work. It's not what you were used to."

That was evident enough. He had seen the old instruments and expediency in treatment. He wanted to be a doctor again, but knew it wouldn't be much like it had been. And he would have to learn to walk first. He had managed not to think about that yet.

The disinfectant was seeping into the still half-raw wound and it hurt. He was done with conversation. It was going to be a hard day, with the move, and he wanted to sleep now. "I guess so," he said, looking away from Willman.

"Get some sleep," said Willman, standing. "It won't be for a few hours."

Julian shifted his pillow a little, closing his eyes. It was odd, but for a moment Willman had let down his guard and suddenly he was more afraid of the future than ever before.

o0o

He watched, with detached interest, as the orderlies unfastened the restraints from his bed, then prepared to transfer both himself and the contraption to a stretcher. True to his word, Willman was moving the whole corner of the hospital to Recovery. He made himself hold still while they jerked him around, sliding the stretcher under him and lifting. He bit his lip as they lowered the restraint and his whole body shook.

For once, he was glad they had his leg so well restrained. He was strapped down on the cart and it bounced ever so gently as it rolled over the hospital floor. It hurt, but not much more than normal. He was looking forward to leaving the large, gloomy room too much to care.

It wasn't until they reached the main door that he realized that in the months he'd been there he hadn't seen what it looked like outside.

When the cart was pushed out the door, the most immediate thing he noticed was how bright it was. He closed his eyes as the sun's glare made them ache, but opened them again anyway. He had to see the outside world he'd only heard of.

But he wished he'd kept them shut when he saw the area around them.

There was a hill in the distance, with a smattering of some kind of grass, and a cluster of little cubicles up the hill closest to the hospital itself. He guessed it was the new residential area for the hospital people. He'd heard the staff's complaints before Willman had squashed them and could see why they'd been unhappy. Of course, should his leg heal and Willman put him to work he'd have to live there, too.

The ground itself was greyish rock, and as people walked on it it crumbled under their feet. The recovery building was new, but as utilitarian as the housing units, set slightly apart from the hospital itself. It didn't have any windows. He wasn't sure he wanted to look at the grey rock, but natural light would have been nice. And if the summers were as muggy as he'd heard, the metallic building was going to be hot. Perhaps, he thought sarcastically, they wanted them to hurry up and recover so they could leave the overheated room.

He lay in the stretcher for a while, enjoying the feel of the sun. It wasn't particularly warm, but it had been a long time since he'd been outside. And he realized how much better it smelled out in the open air than in the crowded hospital. He'd never even noticed the smell until they carried him out.

Others were being moved into the sun. It was just warm enough to make him sleepy. Already, he was tired. The grey world faded in favor of the one he'd created inside his head.

The movement of the stretcher woke him. The wheels squeaked a little, and there were loud crunching sounds as the crushed rock was mashed under the weight.

Then his brief visit to the outside world was over. They were at the door when the stretcher stopped for a moment. He took one last look at the sun, as they pushed him inside the small building.

Once they stopped bouncing his leg, he opened his eyes. To his great relief, it was nothing like the gloomy hospital. Above, there was a small skylight in the ceiling which lit the room during the day. The walls were a creamy white, but the brightness was far more cheerful than the stone brown color of the hospital walls. There were no barriers, though he almost hoped some would be added. A little privacy would be welcome now and then.

The ordeal was almost over. But now they had to lift him to his bed. The wheels slid on the polished floor, and the stretcher jerked as they moved it into position. The straps were unfastened, one at a time. His good leg was barely balanced on the surface and he tensed to hold it up, rather than pull against the brace. They jerked a little less than when he was removed, but not much, and he slid down into his new bed with relief when it was over.

He lifted his head while the nurse put a pillow underneath, then she covered him with a blanket. He had his eyes closed when they pulled the noisy stretcher away and he heard the door close.

Despite the weariness and stabs of pain from his leg, he opened his eyes. He was *alone*. It had been months since he'd been by himself, and it was spooky now. The room was too quiet. There was nothing to do, not even watching other patients. The door opened, the flood of light hurting his eyes but he didn't care. Duncan was watching as he cleared the door, studying the skyline. He smiled. Duncan collapsed on his bed and had a pillow stuffed behind his head and the cycle was repeated again.

He watched each of those he'd grown used to as they were moved inside. It was comforting to be with them. When things got bad, they helped one another. If he had to sit in a room for months, he'd rather it be here than the stuffy hospital.

Then the last was in bed and the nurse was done. She checked quickly on all of them and left.

Immediately, the conversation began. Duncan was still looking at the skylight. "I like my spot. You can't have it," he joked to Bashir.

"I think I like this one, as long as nobody makes me move."

Nobody complained. But they had all seen the grey nothingness outside, and it was unsettling. They knew about the way Willman had come down on his staff for complaining. Even the rumors had reached them. But they had never had a private place to talk before. It was scary. Outside Recovery was an mystery they knew nothing about, except filtered bits of life. Eventually, all of them would have to live in that unknown, and until then, the white building had become a haven of safety surrounded by an intimidating uncertainly.

o0o

Jaro was asking the tenth question about a process that was no longer of any interest to Justin. It wouldn't work here. He had consigned the past to its own realm, but Jaro was finding the history of the terraforming project absolutely fascinating. Justin was willing to answer questions when he could, but at times Jaro got lost in the old details. Walter hadn't even cared after awhile, but Jaro's barrage of questions was almost worse. After one question after another about a part of the project that was, to Justin, ancient history, he had had enough. "I could go into that, but it really has no bearing on anything. It was a dead end."

Jaro was too enthused to be put off. "But then I'll know we should avoid it."

Justin gave in and supplied a short summary of the unsuccessful experiment. Jaro nodded carefully. He took more notes. He had been rapidly filling his notebook since they began and Justin had hardly gotten started. He appreciated Jaro's great interest, but he was growing tired of dredging up the past. "Perhaps we should go over this material later," he suggested. "It's the most recent material that we'll need to redesign the process."

"Don't be impatient, Justin." Jaro looked up from his scribbles. "You never know what will be important. Something which you dismissed years ago may yet work in this new version."

Justin thought of the mound of work that waited for him in his office. He had taken the position to be able to keep the project alive. He was just finishing the reports on the planting, already sprouted and filling the cultivated half of the valley. He imagined he might be finishing the work generated by the harvest about the time the next planting came around. He was already spending all his spare time on the project history. At this rate Jaro might be ready for the second stage of the project, only twelve years past, by then.

He glanced at the time. He had to get back to work. Only some of his reports had to be done by month end, but too many, and that was tomorrow. "I've got to go. We'll get together this evening." Jaro nodded, still writing. He remembered when Walter had given him this lost look when he described his latest discoveries, before he realized that Walter had long ago lost interest. Jaro and his questions were annoying, but it was far better that way. It made him think. Perhaps, if Walter had ask a few more questions they might have not needed the machines. Then their masters might have left the project behind.

"I'll review this, there is so much," muttered Jaro in his now familiar accent.

When the next pile of papers arrived for him to submit to Sisko, he'd remember that Jaro was waiting at home to sit in his time machine and remake the world. It would make the whole miserable day worth it.

o0o

Megan was thinking of dinner. They had promised something new tonight and she was curious. And she was looking forward to another installment of the video they had been watching, trying for one a night. The main character had just gotten himself in a moment of terrible risk, and the screen went blank with "to be continued" in neat white letters against a black background. She wanted it to be okay. She wanted everything to be okay. Even work.

It was forms but that was about all that was the same from before. She had a huge stack of blank Use forms and a dauntingly tall stack of samples. The main accounting cycle was near its month end and she and all the rest would likely work late most of the next few days. Or Colette would. Or, as things settled now, "Sir" would. That is what department heads were called. It was as much a title as "First" was to the Jem'Hadar.

Colette had depended on her, time after time, to do the reports she didn't have time for but should have been able to do herself. So she knew Megan could do it. But none of her office full of staff were ever allowed to do the figures. A couple read them through to make sure the amounts totaled, but they were greysuits instead of silver.

Aside from that, there was no difference made in what tone the staff wore. They arrived on time, sat and worked unless at lunch, and kept quiet. If told to work late they complied. Some of them had decided she was mimicking the Dominion, but Megan knew better. Long ago she had been the same, each of her minions there for the amount of use she had for them. She had merely fit herself into their mold.

But there was still a difference. As month end drew closer the level of tension rose proportionably. Supply and the Use reports were of top priority and must be correct. She was almost relieved that she didn't have sort of position needed to do verification. Mistakes, she was sure, were punishable by some unpleasant means. She was pretty sure the punishment would extend past Sir and the ones without bracelets.

She finished off one folder full, and went to the next. Checking over the form, she laid out her stack. This one had fewer but they were harder to find. All were numbers. She tried to clear her mind so she wouldn't be distracted but it had been a long day and it wasn't near enough to over.

It wasn't like that everywhere. Darla was enthralled by her job. She did forms, for all CA underlings did forms, but was being trained to handle patients as well. Their equipment wasn't as complex as that of the Federation, at least that for normal use. But it was far past the paper and pen level. For Megan, CA was a form of survival. For Darla it was a dream come true.

Neither even noticed that "we" now just meant CA and the blurs on the other side of the passage were rushed past quickly so they wouldn't remind them of what it represented.

o0o

Lonnie didn't want to be a doctor, but was being turned into one anyway. Every week she had a new assignment to study and a tutor to help her. Julian was still confined to bed, his leg still immobilized, but Willman had already found something for him to do.

She came into the Recovery ward nearly every day now, carrying a folder of material to review with Julian. She would draw the curtains and they would sit and talk. At first, the tutoring was just that. His fellow patients had gotten quickly bored with the conversation and found better things to do than try to listen. But now and then, she carried the book in for show. They would open it and discuss a page or two, and when any eavesdropping ears were tuned out would talk about other things.

She tried to warn him about the world he lived in, about the fears and secrets, and the difference between the illusion and the reality. She had come to see both. There were no Jem'Hadar. Almost all the rules could be justified in some way. The food was boring but nutritious and they had found ways to make it taste rather good. But that was the illusion. The tabs they had to wear were reality. The unofficial curfew was a reminder of what might someday become mandatary. That they were trapped here, at the mercy of their captors, was the core. She wanted him to know this. When the day came he left the hospital and Willman added him to staff, Bashir would have to learn about the hard world he'd survived to join.

But he didn't understand. She talked about the daily events that made up her life, and he just looked at her. She worried that on the day he left this room it was going to be a shock, and perhaps that was the only way he could understand.

She liked him. She couldn't prepare him for the adjustment he'd have to make, so she did the next best thing. She was his friend. She told him stories. She listened to his thoughts. She answered his questions when he asked them. When he needed someone to talk to, later, she would be there.

He might even understand. The camp he'd been in had been worse, on the outside. But when Willman chose him for the example of the day in the morning meeting, or new rules imposed from above suddenly changed his day off, he'd not be so surprised anymore.

o0o

Justin stared at the pile of paper, wishing it to vanish. He had been working on the reports for several hours. There was a pattern he'd noticed. He wondered, not for the first time, why they had to submit so many details of the planting season when it was supposed to be their own business. As far as he could see, *nothing* was entirely their own. Even if They did not interfere, it was necessary to file reports on every event in the community. Justin wondered if his hopes for the project were realistic; they were under such strict controls that he wasn't sure it would be possible to even test a small sample of soil without doing it in secret. If it became necessary, he would risk it. Jaro would not like it, and would try to talk him out of it, but if they had a workable idea, he *had* to know. He did not live with the mounds of paperwork and the never spoken fears all around him to be a coward. And by Their rules, it was not technology. Eventually, if things went well, it might be possible to do it openly. He did not allow himself to think of some eventual liberation, as some still did. He didn't need to. For Justin had a dream already. They would *have* to find a way to make the process work without the machines because by then, it could save them.

Their sponsors had asked, over and over, for more simplicity. It seemed like nothing they did was quite simple enough. Why hadn't they said, *then* that they wanted it done with such low technology? It would not have alarmed him, for it would have been a new challenge, and Walter would have been pleased. But they had repeated *simply* to death instead.

They would eventually get their wish. But not for a long time, given the crawl Jaro was making in his reading. Justin decided that if anyone questioned why he was in the small personal lab all day, he find a reason. But he suspected it wouldn't be mentioned. Jaro was asking questions that Walter had never even considered. If they were watching, then they must be making their overlords quite satisfied. As long as they were left alone, he didn't much care. Even the things in the cave had ceased to enter his thoughts very often. They would be left, untouched and unused until they were of no importance.

He had taken a break, and asked for his dinner to be brought to him. It was no wonder why few of the department heads came to eat in person; they were probably still working, at times along with even the most useless underlings. It was lucky Jaro had turned down his offer or the project would be years down the line.

He pushed the reports out of the way, taking a break. He picked up the notebook Jaro had been reading, the page Jaro had been discussing still marked. He read the report he'd kept, one of their total failures. It was strange to see something so old it in paper form, so out of place but yet no longer seeming unusual. But he was grateful that all the other records had been copied before They took them. Without it he'd be no different from the others Sisko had made his command staff. Justin could cope with the distance if there was the dream in the cave, and now this greater inspiration, but he didn't know what he'd do if there wasn't anything.

He closed the book, marking the page again, and pulled his latest notes out of the desk drawer. He scanned them, wanting to escape into memories, but had to get the reports done by the close of day.

Most of the evening was spent finishing the pile, and he'd sent Jaro a note explaining he was busy that night. When it had been reduced to a series of stacks of completed reports, he shut off the light and wandered into the dark night.

There were no stars that night. A faint cloud cover blocked them out, and the darkness was absolute. Following the small lights along the walkway, he retreated to his rooms. He was so tired all he wanted to do was sleep. But while he dressed for bed, a thought teased his mind, one so intriguing he found himself suddenly wide awake.

Jaro had said the answer could be anywhere, even hiding in a failure. Too excited to sleep, he nearly changed again to go to his office. But a wary sense of caution stopped him. It would be too obvious that way.

But he kept pads of paper in his room, ready for the bolts of lightning that came to his mind late at night. He set the light low, as if he was reading, but hunched over the paper holding tight to his pen.

There was no real focus to the idea yet. But he was consumed by the rest, all the little parts that would make up the new approach. When the last word was scribbled on the page, he hid the pad of paper and collapsed into bed, falling into an excited exhaustion.

o0o

When he woke, early with the first light, he knew. It was the answer, and it came from the marriage of old and new, a recent test result merged with a 14 year old failure, or a scientist who had lived with nothing but his passion for 15 years and one who had only recently shared it. He needed to tell Jaro, to lock them both in a room and work undisturbed until they were done. But there were the reports he had to turn in, and a meeting he had to attend, and invariably more paperwork.

The morning passed quickly, all the reports and Sisko's meeting barely touching him. He was meeting Jaro for lunch, and it was hard to conceal the impatience as the meeting ran late. Sisko's first department meeting had been brief and to the point, but no longer. Now, he brought his assistants, each responsible for one subject, and he let them pay attention. It was not planned, but as with every other department had occurred on its own. The chief aides did most of the work. The department heads did the paperwork. Each gave their reports while Justin decided how to tell Jaro of his discovery.

Lunch finally arrived. Jaro noticed he was excited, and ate his lunch a little faster than usual. Then the Bajoran suggested they take a walk; he hadn't looked the fields over recently.

Standing in the middle of the treated area, the smell having faded in favor of the wet dirt and fertilizer smell of the growing one, he could tell Jaro was impatient.

"I'll have all my reports done early today," he said, keeping his voice calm. "We have some very important *new* things to talk about tonight."

Jaro didn't ask. The only sign of his excitement was a glimmer in his eyes and the way he twisted his hands around impatiently. "Then you should be getting back to work," he said.

Justin had never finished the days reports with such efficiency before. He assigned one of his aides to verify all the figures that night, a standard practice but more important this time since he'd rushed them so much. The young man was slouched over the pile with his dinner on the side when Justin left, hardly able to keep his pace to a normal, sedate walk.

The food was already there when Jaro arrived, and neither man cared what it tasted like once Justin had outlined his idea. It was only in its infancy, with many calculations to be done before it could even be written up. But what had gone wrong fourteen years before had given him the clue, unexpectedly shaving years off of the project, and setting in motion something neither man, in their enthusiasm, could have possibly imagined.

o0o

Keiko and her children trudged along the pathway, today the same as all the other days. They'd been walking for months, keeping on the move, skirting trails and villages, often hiding in mountain caverns. As the small gap she'd learned to recognize appeared in the mountain, she assumed it was just another night's hiding place. But as they approached, she could see more signs of activity than normal. A few times they'd stopped at villages hidden inside the caves and caverns along their trail and she realized this one was another.

This one was small, tucked into the mountains, and the residents had carved most of their homes into the mountain itself. The effect, especially when the rains came, were as if there was no village at all.

They were ushered into a domed shaped opening.

Then an older Bajoran woman appeared and affectionately embraced their guide.

Keiko understood most of the conversation.

"Is this them?" the woman had asked. "We expected you weeks ago."

"We had to backtrack around the Jem'Hadar."

"Ah, they must be very tired and hungry." She spoke to a young woman standing behind her. "Get them some food and a place to sleep."

Turning back to their guide, she suggested an introduction.

"Keiko, this is Marlam Sira, the Elder of this village and my grandmother. Grandmother, this is Keiko O'Brien, and Molly," he said, patting her on the head, "and this is Kirayoshi."

The Elder came forward to meet them, smiling at Keiko and the children. She asked in Bajoran, "Do you speak our language? My grandson is the only one here who speaks any Standard."

Keiko nervously smiled back. "I understand enough and my daughter speaks both." Nodding at Molly, she translated for her mother.

"Good. I was concerned. My grandson will be leaving soon. Now, I would guess you are hungry and tired. We have your room ready, but would you like a meal first?"

Keiko translated it slowly, but had no problem replying. After scant meals for weeks nothing had sounded so good in a long time.

o0o

Miles looked up from his desk, watching the lanky young man as Cary Larson opened the door. He had come straight from work, called in by his supervisor unexpectedly, and he was just a little hesitant. He was trying to straighten up his clothes, unroll the sleeves and generally present a neater image. Miles remembered how someone had once commented that if there was a way to make a Starfleet uniform practical, Miles O'Brien would find it. He envied Larson and his ability to use up some of the frustration. Since splitting departments, and becoming head of Operations, Miles missed the occasional chances to get away from reports and meetings, which now occupied most of his life.

"Sit down, don't worry about your clothes. I won't keep you long." Larson stopped straightening. "I need some information about supplies and progress. How far along are we on the R section?" Miles had been referring to the main residential section like that in so many reports he had started to think of it that way.

Once he knew he wasn't in trouble, Larson relaxed a little. "All the families and families with kids have units, and we're finishing the single units. It delayed things a lot having to do the MR units first."

Miles nodded, adding that to his notes. "Well, that couldn't be avoided," he said, which wasn't strictly true, but was none of Larson's business. It had been that or putting the medical people in tents. If they had waited to reshuffle everyone until there was somewhere to put them it would have been unnecessary. But Sisko had ordered it and Miles was pretty sure where that order had come from.

Looking down the list of information he needed, he continued, "Let's see, I need your best guess when R will be done and how much material will be left."

"We should be done with R in a week, two at most. I'll have to look at my plans to give you an accurate estimate on supplies." Larson was confident when talking about solid physical objects, but failed miserably at asking questions. "Sir, um, what happens after that? We have no new building plans."

"We're looking into that. There will be something for you to do." Nice meaningless phrase, thought Miles. "I'll need those figures on the estimate by afternoon, though."

"Certainly, Sir. I'll bring them over before lunch."

Miles nodded, and let him go. Larson nearly bolted out the door. Miles watched as he closed the door more slowly, remembering decorum again.

Larson had been very daring, he thought, asking about the future. But he understood. Cary had sent his wife home, and he needed something to make his life tolerable. Miles almost wished Keiko and the children were there. At least he would know they were safe. He would never see them again, but there was very little chance of that anyway.

But there *was* a chance. Somewhere between the reports and meetings he had realized that They well might reward those who cooperated, especially those who did better than most. Sitting in his office, busy and letting his experience take over, he found a kind of peace. But in the dark, quiet moments in the middle of the night he knew that was not enough and that he would grasp at any straw if he might have them beside him again.

end,Legacy,Year 1,Part 1-3,Chapter 11


	13. Part 3Lessons Chapter 12

LEGACY

An Alternative History of the Dominion War

Year 1

Part 3 - Adjustments

Chapter 12

Carl Jackson fingered the new little pin he wore, denoting him as second in his department. He even had a desk of his own since the department split, and spent at least half his time sitting at it organizing the figures he gathered. He rarely dealt with the actual supplies anymore. Those who did supplied him with figures to add to his reports. The Dominion required records be kept on every kind of supply, and what department each portion went to. Each department, in turn, had to account for how they used any and all supplies. Carl got copies of all of these, and put them together in monthly reports. There were no Jem'Hadar, he thought, finishing that month's batch, but there were no secrets either. It was just that most people never saw the intrusion.

Since his promotion, he had noticed the attitude of his neighbors had changed. He wished there was room for his family in the old section, but he wasn't quite high enough for that. In the meanwhile, the neighbors pointedly avoided him. The children still played together, but he and Cheryl were invisible. Nothing else had really changed. But with each detailed report he was confronted with the reality that the others only suspected.

It was harder on Cheryl. He was busy most of the time, and didn't come back until late when most had retreated inside for the curfew. That he was allowed to be out at night was yet another reminder that he was different. But he envied them. They didn't have to see the minute detail by which the masters watched. They had no idea how easily they could all face disaster if it went wrong.

Cheryl was almost asleep when he came home. Jeffrey had long ago gone to bed, and little Calla was usually dozing in her mothers arms. He missed them during the day. He didn't like the looks he saw them get when he was there.

He wished he worked for Sisko sometimes. All his aides had been moved nearby, along with the department heads. But they were there so he could call on them anytime, and when he slid in behind his wife and held her, he was glad he wasn't so important.

It would be nice to have such good quarters. It would be wonderful if his family wasn't the local enemy. But it worried him that the staff was drawing together and pushing the rest away. Isolating them physically would just make it worse. If his children were happy, he could live with things. He'd finished the Use reports for the month and once they had gone through channels the next months supplies could be received. He dropped the stack of reports in a box and stuck it under his arm, ready to deliver it to Dax before he went to lunch.

o0o

It took two taps on the door before Dax responded, and Jackson entered cautiously, carrying the reports. She stood, staring out the window, playing with her ring. He was careful when she noticed the ring. Sometimes she didn't really listen then. But there had been a lot of work, and he assumed she was under as much pressure as everyone else. But he felt awkward standing there with the box in his hand.

"I have the Use Reports," he started.

It was as if someone had flipped a switch. She left the ring alone and stood straight. Then she turned and nodded. "Is that everything?"

He'd seen the sudden changes before and didn't react. "Everything. You'll want to verify it, of course."

She indicated a table. "Leave it there. I'll check it over but I'm sure you've done a good job."

He hated everything about it but that. She was different. Most of the departments had quickly established a pyramid of authority, and the department heads did little but the final reports. Supply was different. She liked doing the inspections herself, and farmed out the reports to her aids. Since she had to sign them, he was sure she double checked, but she always complimented her staff on good work. Nobody else did. She tried hard to include everyone, even the crew that mostly unloaded the crates.

He put the box on the table, but she'd moved to her desk already. "Could you bring the first section here?" she asked.

He pulled out the first segment of papers, placing them on her desk. She sat straight, concentrating on the page as she read over the summary. "Go ahead and get lunch," she said, not even looking up.

He nodded and left. After he'd finished, he'd get hers and bring it to her. She didn't leave her office for meals. She seldom mixed with anyone but her staff and those who attended the same meetings she did.

Sometimes she was like this, so fixed on her work she didn't even see them. And other times she was wore the distant, lost look she'd had when he came in. There was another Jadzia, more relaxed and social, but that one was reserved for her old friends and he only saw glimpses of her.

But while he ate, sitting alone, he remembered the times he'd seen her in Quarks, laughing and playing games, dressed oddly with Major Kira in tow, or dressed in full Klingon attire. There were several versions of her that worked and lived, but that one had vanished. Nobody played anymore. He wished he could remember what it was to laugh.

Some found her erratic behavior unsettling, but he did not. He only wished he knew how to put the fears and worries aside, even if just for a time. Every time he looked at his children he wished he knew a way to shut out the pain that drowned all the joy of their smiles. How long would it be before even children had forgotten how?

o0o

Megan stared at the new piles of forms. Sir had a small folder as well, full of "special requests" that needed to be translated into incomplete forms. She had already worked all day, her mind sufficiently numbed she was hardly paying any attention to what she was doing.

In the few weeks she'd worked for Colette, ugh, *Sir*, she corrected herself, she had filled in the static boxes in mounds of them. Department heads were addressed strictly as "Sir" and it was almost habit now. The forms required only enough attention to make sure she was putting the terms in the right box. Apparently Sir was happy since she'd been "promoted" to a secondary fill too, adding scattered details to those already started. Colette had always seen her staff as useful work units. She and CA were made for each other. But then, sometimes the mask that *Sir* wore seemed to slip a bit and a hint of the reality showed. That afternoon, everyone else gone but Megan who had to do her "late work" so she could have the next day off, Sir had laid the folder with the "special request" forms on her desk. It looked full this time. She'd done them before but only on "late work" days.

"How many do you need?" she asked, suddenly intrigued, and a little startled, by the flash she had glimpsed of what lay beneath when the mask had slipped.

Sir busied herself checking the standard stuff and counting but looked nervous. She wrote 100 per on a scrap of paper for the first stack and 20 for the next, with the second fill. "Be careful to check on these," she said, indicating the second fills. "They are not all the same department so please double check."

Megan nodded, then pointed at the small folder with specials. "This one's indicated," she said, but it was softly.

She stared at the pile, wishing she could just skip the day off. It was early in rotation. And Sir was not looking quite so glacial as her usual tonight. "How late can I stay?" she asked.

"As late as you need to. We'll need all of them soon so they have to be done. If it's very late you'll be escorted back. Take as long as you want for dinner."

Megan nodded, keeping her mask firmly in place. But something was up. Sir did not speak softly or have that brief look of a wild creature frozen in bright light she had shown.

"I will, Sir," she said. Then, just to see the reaction she added, "Thank you for moving me up, too."

It was an ambush. Colette–Sir seemed the wrong name for the wary look she produced–had not anticipated. Megan assumed it would not happen anymore, but that was fine. But her superior left the room quickly and closed the door.

Megan sat alone in the big room full of desks and paper that was now her life. And the life of everyone on Devon. Before, for several generations they had grown and shipped exotic fruits and seeds to grow them elsewhere. They had created plants and refined them. They were known far an wide. It had gotten collected and shipped across the quadrant without all the paperwork she now had to deal with.

They still grew the exotic plants but other things had started to replace them. Some berry had been set up in vast quantities and half the forms that month concerned the process. She was sure that those not so lucky as to sit in an office would become very familiar with the new plants. Sliding back her sleeve, she rubbed the bracelet. It still defined her. But more and more she knew how much of a difference there was. In her office, rank and responsibility appeared to be based on need rather than bracelets. She had heard the whispers that she was being "groomed" and would need a grey suit soon. No bracelet. CA alone. The alternative might be the new plants and she was sure it was better this way. At least she had been before the raid.

For not everyone on Devon used paperwork. Even before, there had been a significant amount of smuggling. It had finally been written off as a "cost" since it was too hard to stop. But CA could not do that and the Dominion would find a way to stop it. The warehouse had been raided a few days before. Half the crew was "removed" to a ship and disappeared. The next day new bodies arrived to fill the void, but they didn't know the routine and she had heard that ships were having to wait for their shipments to be loaded. Everyone had gotten tense, any sign of problems putting everyone on edge. But this one was noticeable. Those who sat in offices were equally as expendable as the crews they had deported.

She wasn't hungry. Looking at the small folder, she didn't think she's be able to eat at all. She opened it, looking over the forms. Each sample had its forms attached. Most of them were only for one additional. She was to put both together and return it to Sir's desk that night.

The Jem'Hadar had been sent in numbers as well. She studied the top form. There were figures. She didn't do many of those. The only people who ever saw a completed report in her office were Sir and a couple of grey suits who worked with her to verify them. Sir filled in the final amounts herself.

She wished it wasn't late day even with the day off. It was so much easier to ignore the lies when everybody else did too. The empty office was too alone to confront the folder.

But she had to. Moving some of the others to the side, she started working on the specials. They were unscheduled shipments requested due to circumstances. That is what Sir had said. She decided not to think too much about it as she filled in the spaces as marked and tried to keep away the suspicion that something was very wrong.

It didn't take long. She pulled the tallest stack of original over, banishing the little folder to her drawer. Then she stood, giving it to Sir's desk. Her's felt cleaner now and she set to work, letting the mind drift to tomorrow and how she would spend her day. Maybe enough of them and she could forget how fragile the world she had built around her was and how much everyone knew how quickly it could disappear.

o0o

Duncan stood by the door just watching the room. There was something different about him, thought Julian. It was almost as if he wanted to stay. He looked odd dressed in the same non-descript clothes everyone who came to visit wore. After months spent in the next bed he had gotten to know Duncan well, and since his release a few weeks before he missed his friends company. Most of all, Duncan just looked lost.

The others watched as well, but no one bothered him with questions until he was ready. Slowly he wandered further into the room, touching his now empty bed. Julian was glad to see his friend, but disturbed by the look he wore. "We missed you," he said.

Duncan looked at him, a little stunned. "It's even hard for me to believe, but I wouldn't mind coming back. Anything would be better than out there."

Duncan sat on the bed he had occupied for so long. His gloomy look confirmed what Lonnie had tried to tell Julian, and he realized he wasn't as impatient for his leg to heal anymore. "How bad is it?" asked a neighbor.

"It's hard to describe. They don't see it, but they're all running scared. People just don't talk about certain subjects. There is a curfew which isn't official, but that's because people obey it anyway. Nobody complains about anything, not even little things. It's like they are all pretending." He was speaking low, but just high enough for the rest to hear. "I just wanted you to be warned. I don't know if you can really be prepared for it."

"What about the food?" asked one of the soon-to-be-released.

"It's not much different than what we're used to, except you have to get it yourself. There is a square with tables. The top level staff stick together, but everybody else seems to be friendly. Well, sort of friendly. The food's better seasoned, at least some of the time. I guess whoever does the cooking decides on that. And if you just want it in raw form you can get it that way, although I don't see why anyone would want to. I guess it's ok, if you don't want much variety. But then we're used to that part at least. That's something . . . " His voice trailed off, bleakly fading.

They were staring at him, growing quiet and worried. He took a deep breath and continued. "I live in this emergency housing unit, or at least that's what I thought they were. It seems before the Federation gave us away they sent some building materials, since there aren't any here. I've got a couple of roommates, a couple in one room and me in the other. Too early for it to be hot they say, but even now on a really warm day you can't stand the inside during the middle of the day. And they're clustered in little bunches, so at least there is a little more room between them. But I heard that during the spring there is a problem with mud."

Julian wondered if the hospital staff's housing was as bad. He'd seen the little cubicles by the main building when they'd been moved. At least there was a view there, he told himself.

Duncan was looking at his hands. "There is a channel being dug out of the hill to divert the mud, but it's slow going. At least I got out of that job."

"They have equipment for that around here, don't they?" One of the younger patients was staring at Duncan with fascination.

"Had. All they have now is shovels. Part of it was dug up quicker, before. You can tell. It's a lot deeper."

"What else did they take?" asked a woman, one of Miles' old crew.

"Everything. Not just the medical instruments and the replicators, but toys and padds and the diggers they had for the fields. There's replacement parts for some of it, but it's pretty primitive." He paused for a time, shrugging his shoulders. "It's . . . different. I guess most of them are used to it, but it will take a while."

"So, what are you doing?" asked someone very soon to be released, with great apprehension.

"I was asked if I wanted a job. You don't have to take one, but I couldn't stand the idea of sitting around with nothing to do, just too much like here." He shrugged. "I got sent to Supply, which seems to be using the biggest number of people. I'm working on inventory reports, and keeping track of who got what. I get to sit at a desk all day. They said it's important. Guess it is since when we get behind everybody looks scared." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "And of course all this has to be reported to Them."

"Them?" asked someone faintly.

"Well yeah, you know, up there . . . " There was silence.

"Oh," said the same voice, very softly. And the room became quiet again.

Bashir couldn't take his eyes off Duncan. Before his release he had been nervous, even a little scared, but hadn't looked this bleak. Everyone out there had learned to live with it, eventually letting denial make the pain easier. They would not have that luxury. Duncan was trying to tell them, but it was still unreal and they couldn't quite picture it. He wondered if they occasionally reminded themselves not to complain, or to avoid the wrong subjects. Or had denial and habit made it easier by now. He thought about Lonnie, and remembered she had tried to tell him something once upon a time. But that hadn't been real either.

Duncan stood up, noting the time. "Ugh look, I've got to get back. I was on a break." He stood, hesitant, as if he didn't want to leave. "I'll be back whenever I can. I won't desert you guys." He made his way towards the door, greeting his friends, and slowly looking around the room, studying the faces. He smiled a small smile and reluctantly left them behind.

Then there was silence. Each of them would have to walk out that door one day. Julian still had time to think about it, but eventually he'd heal. And then Willman had a place already waiting for him in his strictly run dictatorship. Duncan didn't much like his job, but he'd gotten to choose if he wanted it. He had no such option. He would be a doctor again, but it would never be the

same.

Most of his patients had died in the crash. If he'd had them go the first trip-if *everyone* had gone the in one, perhaps they could have gotten where they were supposed to go and wouldn't be trapped in this misery.

He thought about all the decisions he'd made that would be different as he slipped into a dream, wishing that he could never wake.

o0o

A few days after Duncan's visit, Julian was drawn into a world he still didn't know, but understood a little too well. Willman had drawn the curtains and examined his leg. He'd seen it already, the mangled rut of flesh the "procedures" had left. The memories of it were all too easy to remember,

"It's progressing as expected," he said. But he didn't leave. He had a folder in his hand, which he laid on Bashir's bed.

There was something different about Willman. He was very official. He didn't sit and try to chat. He lectured. Bashir wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but it made him nervous.

"Your not healed yet, but you will be," explained the older doctor, "and when you're up to going back to work I want you ready. Since you're not familiar with some of the procedures and medicines that we have available you'll be reading up on them, along with selected treatment records. Now, I know you are familiar with field procedures, but some of this goes a bit beyond that. And of course, anything you know that would add something useful to our tools would be welcome. My chief aide, Broadman, will be handling the rest of your assignments, and she will be able to discuss any questions you have." Bashir listened intently, a bit surprised by hearing Lonnie referred to by her last name. "This one, however, is rather special and I thought we'd start with it. She'll be here in a couple of hours so I suggest you get it read."

Bashir knew how Willman dealt with his staff. Still, the brusk tone and straight lecture was unexpected. He was still a patient, after all. But he recognized an order when he heard one. "I'll have it finished by then," he said carefully, remembering what he'd heard about Willman from the staff when they'd thought he was asleep.

He thought about Duncan and the gloom he'd brought inside on his visit. Willman had two sides. For the patients, there was the friendly face. But his staff saw the other side, the man who ruled without dissent. He'd have to learn to deal with *this* Willman, and this file was his first introduction.

o0o

Julian lay in his bed, holding the folder. He had his suspicions about what it was, and didn't want to open it. But he understood why the staff found Willman daunting. He would read it for the simple reason he didn't want to have to explain why he hadn't. He'd heard about morning meetings, especially when someone had been out of line. If Willman chose to correct him, while the curtains would be respected and it wouldn't be discussed, everyone would hear.

He'd rather be reminded of the memories than that. There was only one thing the file could be, and he pulled himself to a more comfortable position before he opened it.

A little hesitantly, he opened the file. It didn't surprise him to see his own name. Carefully not reading any of it, he flipped through the pages. There were two separate reports, just as they had treated his leg with Willman's special torture twice. He knew, generally, what the procedure consisted of. More had been done since his, and some day he'd have to perform them himself. There was no reason to dread reading the file.

But there were memories, monsters reaching their claws at him, fire burning at his leg. He didn't remember the pain, except it had existed. The mind was kind when it came to pain. Somewhere between the nightmares of fire and flickering monsters and the report was the truth.

If he ever was to *be* a doctor here, he'd have to deal with it. He slid the pillow to the right spot and started to read.

Then he stopped. "The patient was placed on the table," it said. Did they have any idea of how much it hurt, how rough they'd been and how much he'd been bounced around? Then they'd nearly dropped him on the table after that. The simple bland sentence brought the memories flooding back unbidden.

He closed it, studying the blank cover. Willman would not make him do this. He would put up with any lecture the doctor wanted to give, but he would not bring back the nightmares. He even had lost the ones where Garak died, or the Jem'Hadar chose who to kill. He would explain to Lonnie when she came.

But he wanted to be a doctor again, even here where he could tell how bitter Willman was over how little they could sometimes do. He'd survived the crash for a reason. The report was clinical, just as those he'd written himself had been. He was a doctor. He should understand.

He opened it and started to read again. He stared at the words. They were so cold, so formal. "The patient was sedated and restrained." He could remember the inky mist, and the terror at being tied down to the harness. There was so much they left out. He could see it again, already running through his head. Damn Willman, he thought. It was hard enough sleeping with the constant pain. Now he would have the nightmares back.

But he couldn't stop now. He read the clinical description of the effect of the heavy salt solution, the way it slowly broke down the damaged tissue and infiltrated deep into the wound, drawing out the infection, and the pronounced way it began to weep. But in his mind was the sudden cold wet feeling and the fire that came after. He remembered the way the gag had felt in his mouth, as it made it nearly impossible to breath. And the pain, too, that had made him pass out it was so intense. Tears began to roll down his cheeks, remembering the distorted images and the smell of the orange fire as it ate away at his leg. The report said the wound was pale and drawn after that, but he could not visualize it, only the welcome blackness that had taken away the agony. He knew he would see it again in his sleep.

He kept reading. They had rinsed the oozing mess from his leg and brought the vat which made up the next step. He did not remember any of that, safe in the blackness, but he did remember what the peroxide had become when he was torn from his safe darkness by the new wave of pain. He read the description of the bubbling and the loosening of the dead patches of skin. But he remembered the roaring in his ears, and the smell of the fumes that came back from the crash. He had relived those moments so many times. He remembered the way the beam had pushed him down rather suddenly when it cut into his leg, and his desperate need to pull away. He had been afraid they would take his leg then and the hissing had become an acid burning through flesh and bone. He wasn't sure if that might not have been better now, if all these months of recovery and the two torturous treatments were going to be worth the results. He remembered the pain, but more the end of it, when blackness once more took him, and the laughing thing the pain had become that had granted his wish when he begged for release.

Tears were freely streaming down his face, and he had started to sob. His hands were tightly gripping the folder, letting go only long enough to turn the pages he now had to read. The last page of that report described how the patient had fainted, and the bandaging of the wound. He wished he could tell them how welcome the warm, wet darkness had been, and how safe he had felt. For just a few moments, he would welcome that again, but that had gone, just as the security of this room was being taken away too soon.

He read the second report quickly, remembering none of it but the very end, when the chemicals had hit a major nerve, surrounded by the deep infection, and he had screamed from the pain, even deeply sedated. The sound of his screams was distant, and faint, but he remembered them, as he remembered dropping deeply into nothingness and being very cold, before he had gone into a coma. The report noted that emergency treatment for extreme shock was administered, and the outcome was uncertain at that time. He closed the file, and dropped it on the floor.

He lay for a time, unable to move, his heart pounding and his breathing irregular. Tears kept running down his cheeks, but he had stopped sobbing. He thought about Willman and what he had done, forcing him to remember. There was a reason, he knew. He'd have to get over his memories before he could treat others with the same need. But even if it had saved his life, he resented the way Willman was making him remember. It was so cold, like the world outside. He would never see Willman with the same eyes again.

o0o

A little while later, when Lonnie arrived, the folder still lay on the floor where it had fallen. Everyone watched as she made her way to his bed without comment, and slowly opened the curtain and retrieved the file. Bashir was laying flat, stiffly staring at the ceiling. His face was red and his eyes lost. But he was angry, too, and she cautiously opened the folder. Reading the first page, she closed it again. She waited for him to say something.

He said very quietly, the anger spilling out, "I read it. Now you can go. I don't have any questions."

Lonnie was worried. Anger was dangerous. It was confined to secret letters and dreams. She had to make him understand. She sat. He ignored her. She wished things were a little more private, but they would have to settle for the honor system. "I know it hurts to remember it, but he saved your life. Twice."

He looked at her, barely under control, "And he made me remember all the bloody details, too." She put her finger to her lips, trying to keep his voice down. He was talking much too loud. He needed to get it out, but not this way. He stared at her gesture. "What's the matter? Is being human against the rules now, too?"

He sounded more hurt than angry, but the words stung. At least he had not said them so loudly. But she was certain that everyone in the room was listening. She dug in her pocket and found a pad of paper and a pen. She sat on the chair and waited until she had his full attention. "Yes," she said, softly, "Remember you have to live here after your released. And you don't want to be on his list." Her gaze was intense, and she could see she was getting through. He was passing into grief now, at the edge of understanding how much had been lost.

But he was quiet. She handed him the pad of paper and the pen. "Here," she said very quietly, "write it out. All of it. I'll promise to read it, but then I'll burn it. And you never say it again."

"Do I have a choice?" he asked.

"Not if you want to be a doctor," she said, already knowing what his answer was.

He took the paper, staring ahead. "You can go now," he said bitterly.

"I'll be back with your dinner in a couple of hours. Is that ok?" She asked it gently, softly.

"I ... I don't think I could eat right now."

She nodded, adding, "I'll be back anyway." She took his hand and squeezed it hard. He looked in her eyes and she wondered if he saw the fear.

o0o

Lonnie brought dinner anyway, hoping he had managed to work out the anger by then. But he turned his head away when she showed him the food. "Get it away. My stomach . . . I told you not to bring it." She sat it on the empty bed, everyone in the room watching, and re-entered the curtained off room. He pulled the pad out from under the blanket, and handed it and the pen to her. He said nothing. She put it in her pocket. He lay watching her as she sat, waiting for him to say something.

"I suppose I'll have to wear one of those," he said, pointing at her collar.

"Probably. I don't know where he's putting you, authority wise. Only the chief aides get these. I can't imagine you not having to."

He looked resigned. "And I suppose you like getting to be important."

"I don't know. I never thought about it. He goes on skill level in this department," she sighed. "It's fair. Whatever else you say about him, he doesn't play politics."

He sounded skeptical. "Really. Politics isn't what I was thinking of." He closed his eyes and groaned. "It's in there." He pointed to her pocket. She nodded.

"Are you sick?" she asked.

"It was bringing back what happened, the treatment. It . . . I got sick remembering it."

"Okay, I'll get you something for it. I won't tell him." She looked at Bashir. "It's not going to be easy. I won't say that. But you don't want to have to fight him, too."

She took the food and split it among the others in the room, returning with something to settle his stomach and help him sleep. He was exhausted. Perhaps tomorrow he'd want to talk.

Willman had changed, almost overnight, to the man he was now. It had been so swift it had taken them all by surprise. But the staff that had to deal with him had learned early that he was not to be crossed, and he'd proven more than once that his rules would be obeyed.

Bashir still didn't understand that. Between his fears of the Dominion suddenly taking him away and the deep resentment she saw inside, it would be hard when Willman first corrected him. What he'd done with the folder was cruel, but now Bashir could get past it. There were no counselors here to ease the trauma, so Willman used the same blunt force he'd used on the rest. Those who crumpled were of no use to anyone.

As she left, she studied the others. The curtains were respected. No one would intrude, but Willman's sudden change in manner had given them warning. Tonight they were unusually quiet, a few giving her or Bashir an occasional glance. He needed time. They'd give him all he needed.

Their day, with their own Willman would come soon enough.

o0o

Lonnie was snuggled in her bed, reading the scribbled pad. He wasn't used to pen and paper, and his handwriting was messy. Or, she thought, he was too rushed to worry about neatness. But she had to read it slowly, and it was painful in ways she didn't anticipate.

There was so much anger there. Willman had been cruel, and Julian had reserved a lot of anger for him, but he was the most convenient target. Once he had vented the fury he felt for resurrecting his nightmares, he had little more to say about Willman. But there was still anger, a deep smoldering fury, at the betrayal he was only starting to understand, and the way it had marked his life forever.

He must have paused for a while, since his handwriting changed suddenly, became neater and more readable, and more difficult to read about. He had turned from anger to fear, and the fear too closely mirrored her own private thoughts. Jabara had made her destroy the letter she had written, but she still remembered the words. She was afraid of the future; spending years making do, watching patients die because they didn't have enough. She especially worried about what it would do to her, what it had already done. She could not quite deal with the coldness inside her when there was nothing but quiet and relief from the pain, if they could spare it, to make dying easier.

He was afraid, not of losing patients, but of leaving them maimed and in pain, as he had been, and having to make due with that. He had observed far more than was obvious when he had been housed in the main hospital. He spoke of the many deaths since the Dominion had taken everything away, and how he had watched the staff harden to them. He did not want to be like that, but he remembered watching Tain die in the Jem'Hadar prison and feeling nothing. He feared that most of all, to lose the ability to care, and to feel. Lonnie thought about her relief when the last of the dying from the Antelope had gone, how she had planned how they could use the room. She still cared, but it just hurt too much to let it out. She wasn't sure how long she could bottle it up until it ceased to matter.

But, having gotten past his fear and anger, he came to a thought she found profoundly disturbing. He could not get Duncan's observations off his mind, and Willman's manner when dealing with him and the records, and the worry she had shown over his reaction. He feared the world outside, and did not want to be like those who had learned to live in it. He didn't want to pretend and hide behind a facade. But he would come to live that way or not survive. He understood, remembering the way he had learned to survive the Jem'Hadar before. He still feared being sent back to the internment camp, but in some ways it didn't really matter. Cyrus was still a prison. It was just a little nicer.

Lonnie packed the letter in a disposal pouch, like her's had been, but could not sleep. She hadn't even noticed how nobody complained, or the wholesale avoidance of some subjects. But she would see it now, and the fear. It would not change anything about her outward behavior, because she didn't dare allow it to, but she had taken back a little of herself, just the same.

o0o

James had finished filing the last paper of the day, and finally escaped his co-workers grip after they dragged him to dinner. He was finally home, where the painting that had become his life waited for him. The night before, in the short time he allotted himself to paint, he had finished the last bench and the tree. The park was as he remembered it, the last year he had celebrated his birthday there before his parents bitter separation had exiled him to this place. All it lacked was the people and the birds and the things that made a birthday what it should be.

He didn't want to finish it too soon. He allowed himself only a few new things each evening. Some nights he just sat in front of it, watching, as he sent himself back home. It wasn't just a painting anymore, but the gateway to a different place. The only times that really mattered were spent in front of it. He filed papers and found them when requested, ran errands and allowed himself to be taken out for food. But that was only the cost of being here this moment.

Tonight, he studied the trees. Underneath there had been a patch of flowers growing when he was ten. It had been a good birthday. His parents had sat and ate and talked together then.

He dabbled them in place delicately, with absolute concentration. It took perhaps an hour to finish, and he capped the paints and washed the brushes. It was all he needed. But looking at the park, he could smell their sweet scent now, along with the musty smell of the trees and the damp earth odors. He sat for another hour, watching, seeing the breezes blow and living in his world.

After that, he bathed, and dressed for bed. He had become very meticulous about every aspect of his life, from filing papers to bathing to his art. Each thing had its place, and he was careful that they stayed in the right ones. It was the dependable background of his life, this room which he alone controlled. He sat again, after bathing, studying the painting before he retired to bed and could stay in the world his magic mirror created. Only when he woke and the other world intruded would he leave there.

o0o

With summer approaching, it stayed warm much later than before. James had worked late that day, and the upset to his routine was hard on him. He was very tired; and spent less time studying his park than normal. But he still needed to paint something, and now he could add the animals and the people.

Studying it carefully, he knew he would get little sleep but couldn't rest until he'd added something new. He listened to the breeze, and decided it was too empty. It needed people. He sat for another time, perhaps half-an-hour, until he knew who should be there. His great uncle John was always first for every picnic. He would sit on a bench and watch the rest of the day. With the same concentration he gave the flowers, he created an image of his great-uncle, and sat back to immerse himself again.

But something was different. He heard the voice, gravelly and rushed, that he had forgotten. It was as if his uncle had come to life, and was waiting for him now. He took his bath and dressed, lay out the next days clothes, because he needed his routine, but could not wait to go back to his painting. He sat for only a few minutes, but he was there in the park, and made his way to bed.

Uncle John always wore a special hat, and he'd forgotten. But James had watched as he whistled while cleaning off the tables and sweeping away the leaves, tapping his head as if something was missing. The first thing tonight, when he was past all the papers and work, would be to add the hat. He'd put the rake against a tree and the pile of leaves off in the side of the grass.

And then, the next days, they could start the party.

o0o

Sisko watched James filling the new cabinets with records, wondering what had changed. The young man was just as meticulous and worked with the same intense concentration, but there was something subtly different about him. His work had been, if anything, a little better. But in the last few days James had become more distant than ever. He did what he was told. If conversation became necessary, he made the required replies before he found a way to escape. But all the while he seemed to be listening to someone else. Sisko remembered the vibrant young man who'd helped so much, and worried over his distant mood. But he was more worried than before. James did his work, but Sisko had noticed how little he looked at anyone and how when they took him to lunch, James never resisted. He was slipping away from them a little more each day.

Everyone had leaned someway to cope. Most hid the feelings they did not dare show. While it was never put into words if you looked closely you could see the frustration they lived with. James wasn't like that. If anything, he had no reactions to daily life at all. He didn't react to the rumors, or, for that matter, show any interest in them. He hardly appeared to notice those around him anymore. Sisko asked him questions, especially when he saw a glimmer of life in the boy's eyes, trying to draw him out. But aside from polite phrases he could get nothing.

Morris entered the office, holding a stack of more papers, sitting them on the desk. Sisko had watched Morris with James and knew how protective he'd become. James got his meals because Morris made sure he did. He looked worried, too.

Before Morris could leave, Sisko said, "Wait, I wanted to ask you about James."

The sudden request took Morris by surprise and he hesitated. "Certainly, Sir," he said, but was clearly not comfortable.

"Is anything wrong? Has something happened in the last few days? He's so quiet lately." Sisko did not keep the worry out of his voice.

Morris looked frustrated. "I don't know, Sir, I've noticed it too. It happened rather suddenly. As far as I know nothing particular has changed. He still works on his painting a little each night. I can tell when I pick him up in the morning for breakfast."

"Let me know if you find anything out. I'm very concerned."

Morris nodded, a little relieved. "I will, Sir, as soon as I have an idea. And, thank you for caring, Sir."

Sisko felt better, knowing how dedicated Morris was. If anything could be done, he'd find a way. But he was very much afraid that James had slipped too far to find his way back.

o0o

The last building had been erected. There was material left over, but it was being stored for future use. Suddenly, a lot of people who had a reason to get up in the morning had nothing to do. Miles, as head of Operations, had been assigned the task of finding something to else to use the time.

He had drafted Larson as his chief helper, and requested suggestions from all the other departments. There were plenty of ideas, all good, which would make life a little more comfortable. But it wasn't that simple.

It had to use a lot of people. Ag's suggestion for building a hothouse didn't use enough. It had to be low key and legal. Willman's idea of a local plant survey would have to go through channels, and too many areas were off limits to make it overly successful It was something for later, but wouldn't help now. The skills sharing workshops among residents were also a good idea, but would take time to organize and draw too much attention. The last requirement was that the project be of direct benefit to everyone. The hothouse would have been perfect, but too limited.

The ones that fit involved a lot of hard work. But when done everybody would be relieved. One was already started, the most likely to be chosen. All Miles had to do now was figure out how to take away what had been a labor of love, and make it a project.

o0o

After the shock of the first assignment, Bashir had wondered what other surprises Willman was planning. But the assignments that followed were all very routine. There was a study of available drugs, how some of the "older models" they were using functioned, and the like. Lonnie showed him, and could answer all the questions he had about their use from practical, day to day experience. None was complicated, but he appreciated her help. Even in this backwards corner of the universe, he missed medicine.

He was still tutoring Lonnie. She wasn't as enthusiastic as he was about his lessons. He didn't push, but tried to fill in the gaps, trying not to waste time teaching her what others had. She was afraid Willman feared something terrible and wanted her to be able to do anything. But he could tell she didn't like it.

Since he'd written his letter, she'd changed. He'd only said what was on his mind, but he realized that few out there would have put it so bluntly, even her. No wonder she'd been in such a hurry to burn it.

She came every day now. On her day off she stayed longer. They would review their respective materials, and if she could stay they'd close up the books and quietly talk. Today, she'd been explaining what drugs were available and what they did. He listened and nodded, still amazed that the Dominion allowed any at all.

With just a little help, he might have kept Tain alive to escape with them. He didn't like the Cardassian spy, but still wished he could have died in freedom. Everyone on Cyrus understood that now, even if they didn't want to. Willman's people understood even more, living in his own personal dictatorship.

She finished and he picked up her folder.

"You don't seem very enthused about your lessons," he observed.

She sighed. "It's not the lessons. It's everything. I can't look at it the same since I read something."

He had opened her eyes, he thought. But he already knew enough to be careful what he said. "Did it help?"

"In a way. But it's a lot harder, too. I know why you're doing this," she said, pointing at the folder. "I don't want him to be right."

They both grew quiet. It wasn't the place for that conversation, however respected the drawn curtains were. He looked at her, and said very quietly, "Write me a letter." She nodded. Then he said, a bit louder, "I guess he's happy with both of us. He hasn't said anything but I think he would if he wasn't."

She nodded. "I'm a quick study. Everybody always wanted to study with me in nursing school."

He actually smiled. She noticed. "Remind me to tell you about the question I missed about the pre-ganglionic fiber. I would have been valedictorian except for that question."

They were speaking quietly, without whispering, which would have been sure to interest the others. "I had to fight to get into nursing. I was a good artist. Everybody thought I *had* to be one. My father never forgave me when I quit. And then when I wouldn't even try to be a doctor, he gave up wanting to understand. They didn't see any reason at all to come here."

There was no hint of feeling in her voice. But he could see the grief in her eyes.

He took her hand. "I understand. My father didn't see why I left Earth, or came so far. I could have gone anywhere I wanted."

"But they liked you going into medicine, at least." She was staring at the curtains, unwilling to look at him.

"There were some . . . other factors involved. I wasn't like you. I wasn't born this way. My parents didn't want the child they got, and so they had me fixed." He paused. "I shouldn't have even been in medicine, or Starfleet for that matter."

She looked at him, confused. "Fixed?"

"I wasn't very smart. I'll never know, I was so young, but I may never have even gotten to be average. So all the things I did were possible because of the genetic enhancements. I'm . . . unnatural." He looked at her, remembering his own family and how he'd just begun to get them back when they were separated by war.

"That's illegal," she said. "But I guess it doesn't matter if they know now."

He took a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper. "They know. It was discovered," he paused, adding up months, "about a year ago. Against my wishes, my father made a deal. He is in prison. I was allowed to remain."

"That was a great sacrifice," she said, hesitating.

"And a pointless one. Look what they saved me for." She turned to look at him, hearing the bitterness he didn't bother to hide.

"Your letter to them," she said. "The part about being their son. I didn't understand." She took his hand. "They didn't know what was going to happen then. It wasn't pointless."

He wondered if they had had the same thoughts, that perhaps if he been discharged he might still be with them.

He stared at the curtain. They hadn't known, none of them had. But it was one more thing to question about his life.

end,Legacy,Year 1,Part 1-3,Chapter 12


	14. Part 3Lessons Chapter 13

LEGACY

An Alternative History of the Dominion War

Year 1

Part 3 - Adjustments

Chapter 13

Benjamin Sisko smiled as he announced the marriage of Rom and Leeta. He and the wedding party stood in the middle of the new Residential deck, surrounded by friends and onlookers. When the deed was done, a loud cheer started with friends nearest the couple, but spread along the crowd of unfamiliar strangers who didn't really know the bride and groom, but came to watch the wedding anyway. There wasn't much to celebrate, but the long delayed wedding of the little Ferengi and his tall Bajoran bride became the first celebration that had pulled nearly everyone together.

Even the food was special. The cakes had been carefully soaked in a spiced bath until they were soft, and then were grilled on a makeshift barbecue. The outside was brown and tender, the middle juicy and soft. There was even a choice of flavors. The day's allotment of vegetables were soaked and sauteed as a toping, and the marinades simmered into a gravy.

It was the first time since the Dominion had come that there was a choice, and something other than various versions of soup. A little extra seasoning had been included for those who liked their flavors strong. It was a special treat, but one which had to be reserved for only the most special of occasions. But this wedding would never be repeated. For once, the new community came together to do something besides grieve.

Sisko had been very nervous. Given the harsh position he held, he didn't know if the Emissary would be as popular as he had been on Bajor, and he doubted those unfamiliar with the importance he held on Bajor would be impressed at all. He had hardly slept the night before, wondering if they'd stare with reverence or bitterness because of a sense that they *had* to. He'd dressed carefully, avoiding any of the clothes he wore in his official position, and leaving the little pin that made him their leader at home.

They would accept him or not. He had to find out if he could still be two men.

But the small Bajoran wedding party had honored him as if he were still standing on DS9, and the rest had chosen to join in the spirit of the occasion. Tomorrow they'd stare with resentment, but today they saw the man.

Leeta wore a beautiful dress, donated for the day by one of Vance's people. It was neither traditional for Bajoran weddings, nor the natural look of Ferengi custom. But she was special, extra care lavished on her that morning, and despite the grim world around her, she smiled. The rest of wedding party, friends of the bride and groom, were dressed in the best that could be found, and they stood straight and proud to witness the moment.

No matter what came tomorrow, they'd taken that day as their own.

The crowd dressed for the occasion. Even if all they had was everyday clothes, they were crisply washed with bright colors added to make the day festive. It was as if, for a day, the Dominion and all they stood for had been pushed away.

A table sat nearby, covered with gifts. Some were from friends, but not all. Bits of cloth and string covered them, but later, after food, the couple would share the bounty of talent and good wishes for everyone to see.

But the best part were the musicians. Some had brought their instruments along, some had made them on Cyrus. A young man played a Bajoran flute as the bridal pair had entered the square. A woman played a bowl shaped stringed instrument, the sound like dancing bells, as the ceremony was done. The musicians gathered together, Bajoran and human, along with an assortment of other species and those who had made rattles and bells and drums.

Amid driving rhythms and teasing melodies, lunch was served. For once, Benjamin Sisko, spiritual leader, ate among his people. His staff were scattered about the deck, partly by deliberate design but by choice as well.

It made the day special for everyone, a day that the only stars were the bride and groom. There was no hierarchy's that day, just people. The curfew had been lifted for the night, and the music and food and merriment would last as long as the last celebrant wanted to stay. Here and there, little groups were dancing, and as Sisko took his leave, he wished that the Emissary had the option of leaving his desk behind for a whole day.

o0o

Nog stood a little to the side as his father and new bride opened their gifts. It wasn't Ferengi custom, and Leeta hadn't expected the table full of things, but she and Rom sat in the center of a circle of friends, each gift passed to them as the last was opened.

Rom was nervous. Nog could tell by the way he stammered as he and Leeta unveiled the small symbols of the day. Leeta carefully untied a bit of string around a round shape, and Rom took the fabric and added it to a neat pile. But she smiled as she held up the gift. It was from one of the Cyrus staff, no name given, but just a "Best wishes." The small basket had been woven from the dried native grass, the edges twirled with a bright red thread. Its handle was supported by a shaft of wood, cut very precisely, and Nog almost came closer to look it over.

Most of the gifts were simple, but welcome things. This one was special, and someone had spent time making it.

Once, thought Nog, it would have simply been a trinket. Now, hanging on the wall, it would make the small quarters more liveable, not just for its use but for the simple beauty of the design. Somehow, he understood that if he'd not been lost here he might not have understood that.

The Chief had asked for ideas before. Perhaps later whoever made it could teach them. He was sure others could use something to hold their things. It would do more than give them something to do. Each basket could hold a little of the person who made it.

But the basket had been put aside, and the next gift was a drawing of a bird. The colors were beautiful. It flew into a bright blue sky, and the wings actually glistened.

The guests were silent when Leeta stood and held it up for everyone to see. "To fly free," she read.

It was added to the other gifts, carefully wrapped in cloth. She sat. "Thank you, James," said Rom quietly.

James stood near, looking up at the sky. Nog watched him, wondering if, for James, the empty skies of Cyrus were not so alone. The bird was a work of dreams. Nog had heard of James' painting, and when he brought messages from Sisko, had noticed the lost eyes.

Nog had dreams, too. But his had been betrayed. At least James got to have a little of his. So many of the others here had time to make a future, even if it all had been stolen. Nog and James and a few others knew the sort of future they wanted, but didn't get to see if they might have succeeded.

He turned back to the gifts, now almost done. Behind the cheerful smiles, he could see how tired they were. The music would probably go on for hours, but the guests of honor were already impatient to go.

Nog missed the last few gifts. James had wandered off, and Nog watched as he kept pausing and looking up at the mid-afternoon sky.

Nog wasn't much for birds and animals. It had never been all that important in Ferengi life. But somehow he hoped James would paint all the birds he remembered.

There were none on Cyrus. If there were children, who would explain about birds if there were no pictures to understand what they'd lost.

o0o

Lonnie balanced the platter, stepping carefully on the slightly rutted pathway. She'd waited for the gifts, knowing he'd made the basket. She had seen the makings in his office, sitting in a box almost hiding under a shelf. But she knew he'd learned how to make them a long time before, when all he had to hold his medicines were the baskets he could weave. Rom and Leeta were impressed, and she imagined they were all wondering who had spent so much time.

But they never would have guessed that Dr. Willman had made it. He was the big bad enemy. He terrorized his staff and was short with the patients. Some day, she hoped, he'd have a chance to prove there was more to him than that.

She didn't know about the picture of the bird. James had been busy with Sisko and she hadn't had much time to see him. But she'd heard about his painting. Somehow, she would get time to see it but Willman always kept her busy. Even on her day off, she had things to do.

Today, she decided to sit and watch the people. It was odd to be away from the constant worry of doing the wrong thing and being humiliated in the morning meeting. She was Willman's chief aide, but she wasn't immune. She'd lingered longer than intended, listening to the music and wished she could bring a little of that back to the room along with the dinner.

Everybody in Recovery would get some of the day's special food, but she was bringing his early. If only there was a way to bring him to the celebration-to bring *all* of them stranded in the small room away from the joys and sorrows they'd have to fit into. At least they'd have the food.

o0o

She looked back, hoping to spend a little more time at the party later on. The gifts were done, but there was a knot of dancers moving their feet to the rhythms of the band. There was music played, mostly in Residential, but there was a band today. The calliope of sounds was cheerful. So often sitting by their little dwellings, the music was so melancholy.

At least they could move around the settlement, and weren't stuck inside a room. She'd gotten used to her daily visits to Bashir, and the daily greetings she got from the others. Even if she had to leave the party, she wouldn't miss a day.

She'd found a nice dress to wear, the first time she cared what she looked like since the world had ended. Walking inside the half-empty ward, everyone instantly noticed. She smiled at their comments, ignoring the looks of surprise. Nobody smiled in Willman's little kingdom.

Bashir was doing better. She wished he was well enough for a day's outing, especially since he was friends with the bride and groom. But he looked up from the book he'd been reading when she approached.

She closed the curtains. Others had personal guests that day, too.

He put down the book, looking her over. "You should wear that more often."

"I'll wear it to weddings." She smiled. Since they had been talking in writing about reality, they could be much more open in private. He even smiled back at her. "Did Rom make it all the way through?"

"He was nervous. I wasn't real close, and I couldn't really tell what was going on. I've never seen a Bajoran wedding before."

He looked at her reflectively. "I'm familiar with the one when you break up." She must have looked puzzled since he explained. "Leeta was my girlfriend for a while."

She sat in a small chair she'd brought inside. "I wish you could go. It's so different. The music is so wonderful."

He shifted in his bed. "Tell me about it."

She started with the crowd, dressed so carefully, and remembered as much of the wedding as she could. He closed his eyes, listening as she described the way the music filled the square with a special magic.

"I can hear it a little," he said softly. She remembered how his parents had had him "fixed".

After she'd talked a little, he had his dinner. "This is good. I want more," he said, finishing a bite. He looked at her, and his leg. "If they'd waited a month I might have been there. Did you know it itches now?"

"That's good. It's healing well." Tonight someone would check it again, and she would read the file. But now wasn't the time for that. Now was the time for friendship and celebration.

"You don't have to put up with the itching." He stuffed another heaping bite in his mouth and looked at her again.

When he'd finished he smiled. "You really should wear that dress more often. You'd certainly cheer up some of your patients." He looked away with a sudden dark look. "You should go back to the party. I'll just imagine how beautiful it is."

She wanted to go. She wanted to hear the music and watch the dancers. The bridal couple were undoubtedly already gone, but the party would go on all night with curfew officially lifted for the occasion. But she wanted him to know that there was more than gritty grey sand on Cyrus, even if not much. "If you'd like to rest," she said. He had finished and made himself as comfortable as he could. "When you can walk, I want to take you to a little cove. It's near the main source of the casaba leaves, and it only stands to reason you should have to replenish our supply, you used so much of it."

He studied her face. "Walking isn't one of the things I'm looking forward to doing. But I'll try if you'd like to show me."

She smiled. "I'm considering this a promise."

"Have a good time", he said.

She opened the curtains, and he picked up his book. Walking down the pathway to the square, still filled with music and people, she disappeared into the crowd. For one night, she would be just Lonnie and pretend that there was something to celebrate.

o0o

Not everyone had attended the party. Walter Vance sat in the small room he'd been condemned to live in, crammed with personal possessions, and listened bitterly to the echos of the celebration. He might have gone if it were not for Sisko, but that he was performing the wedding made it impossible. He hated Sisko, especially, because of what he had become. Vance hated the Dominion as well, but they were still distant. Sisko, who met with the Vorta and carried out their policy, was not. Only he and Justin knew just who their sponsors were, and he wanted it left that way. But that did not dim either the guilt which occasionally struck him that he *should* have investigated, or the deep sense of betrayal that his dream had been demolished. He hadn't spoken to Justin for months, but his old partner was now busy with the Bajoran and Walter didn't really want to know what they were up to anymore. Once shattered, he would not touch it. If Justin wanted to, it was his choice. But most of all Walter had vowed to never be their lackey again. Nor did he want to die or face some unimaginable punishment so he chose to blend with the crowd. But Sisko was there, already looked upon, at least he believed, as a collaborator, and he could allow that rage to be given life.

Carefully snubbing the celebration, he spent the entire day in the hot, stuffy room, avoiding even a few "friends" who wouldn't ignore him and had tried to get him to go. He did not have any friends, nor did he want any.

He wished the music was not so loud. It was hard not to listen to it. He'd tried to read a book but couldn't concentrate.

Someone was at the door. He had left his own room and was reading in the central part of the shelter. He was surprised to find Willman standing there.

"Mind if I come in?" Willman asked. He was holding a covered plate. "I hope you like the flavor."

Walter had intended to boycott the entire event, including the food, but he didn't like being hungry. Perhaps because hunger reminded him of the faded children he'd know as a boy, from the same sort place this one *could* be someday if They decided. He took the plate and Willman followed him inside uninvited. Vance wished he'd leave but knew that Willman wasn't going until he'd gotten what he wanted.

Uncovering the food, he poked at it a little. "Different. Who came up with this idea?"

"Somebody on the food crew. If it's a big enough hit it may become a regular event of sorts." Willman watched as Vance ate, trying not to look as if he was enjoying his meal.

Willman let him finish before he stared in. "Do you know how petty this makes you look? There are a lot of bad feelings out there, but today they were left at home. I know people were looking for you. But you had pout like spoiled child."

Vance carefully wiped his mouth and handed Willman the plate. Unperturbed by the tone he stared at the doctor. "I will not sell my soul to the demons."

Willman looked at him coolly. "Come off it, Walter. You've played politics enough to know what's going on. Do you think Sisko likes what he has to do? Do think I like the rules I gave my staff? Do you think people are really as complacent as they look? But what else are we supposed to do?"

Vance gave him a piercing look of disdain. "I've heard about you and Sisko. You're his friend now. Your staff is afraid of you. I didn't think you'd sell yourself to them this easy."

Willman looked only mildly annoyed. "I spent two years as a Cardassian prisoner. They were much more open about what we were, but this isn't much different. I was allowed to be a doctor, with only the most primitive of supplies, but I saved lives. But that was the Cardassians. These people don't let their prisoners have medical treatment. They didn't have to send supplies for the hospital. But I was willing to give up my pride and let Them feel superior if it got me what I needed. The people I save are worth it. Face it, Walter, they make the rules. We can go along with them or starve. You don't look like your fasting in protest."

Vance, still perfectly composed, answered, "But I'm not *helping* them either. Everybody's heard about those rules you have and how your staff is as afraid of you as the Vorta." He finished with a cold stare at Willman.

"I don't expect you to understand," said Willman just as coldly. "None of you understand." He sat on Vance's couch, his demeanor suddenly serious and worried. "This is just the beginning. They want something, or things would be a lot different. This is just games now. When they get tired of the games, my rules will seem like child's play."

"You mean we should be good little slaves, do as we're told and hope to get a nice reward at the end of the year. Or are you waiting for the Federation to rescue you again?" Vance let out all the bitterness trapped inside.

Willman looked at him, impatient. "No, I don't expect to be rescued. Not this time. I expect that it's going to get a good deal worse than it is now. Eventually they'll get their excuse to show what they can do to us." He shifted in the chair, his face tense and grim. "Your attitude will just bring us to that day a lot sooner." He stared at Vance. "You need to stop this now. Go to Sisko, offer to help. Certain people still follow you. Set a better example."

"I *am* setting a good example," spit out Vance.

Willman did not react. Staring at him, the doctor was very cold. "You swallowed your pride for your precious project lots of times. Now you need to do it for the sake of everyone here."

Vance was insulted. "I do not ask you to quit your job. I simply don't choose to take one myself."

"I'm not suggesting you do. But you don't have to work a staff job to influence people. You sit here being so high and mighty that certain types out there might get ideas. Or perhaps, already have plans." He paused, silence filling in what did not need to be said. "When they stop sending food and you start to starve, I hope you remember that."

"Then they do," said Walter.

Willman was silent for a moment. "Have you ever seen someone you knew killed in front of you? I have. It hadn't been long after we'd been captured and they were playing games with us. One of our people, Chandler was his name, just froze up. He was scared, but he just flatly refused an order. I don't know if it was panic once he'd done it or he was trying to make some point, but he couldn't move. They dragged him away and dumped him in front of us. Then they beat him to death."

For a moment, Willman looked lost, and Walter felt a chill, thinking he was seeing it all again. Or perhaps he was not seeing Cardassians.

Willman said, very quietly, "I don't want you to be our Chandler."

Vance stared at him. He had hated sitting there with the Vorta, but had come because he did not want to die. Perhaps someone would be, but not him. "I honor this man. You have no idea what I believe. Please leave my home."

Willman stood but didn't leave. "I don't think you know what they can do. Or will do. All I ask is you be careful."

Vance took a piece of paper and started writing. When he finished he handed it to Willman. "I don't think this matters much anymore. But if everything needs a specific document, now you have one. But with it I officially disavow any ties with you and yours." He glared at Willman, who read his resignation as Director of Cyrus or any other function in their governing bodies. Willman shook his head, turning to stare at Walter for a minute with great pity, and left, closing the door softly, picking up the empty plate.

Walter sat in his empty room, staring at the door. He would not sell himself, not again, and especially not to Them. But he knew Willman was right about Them and their lies. Outside, the sounds of a meaningless celebration drifted into the room, but Walter shut it out.

He would not bend. He would not soil himself with a lie. But for the first time, he was suddenly and terribly afraid.

o0o

By afternoon, the Recovery building was uncomfortably warm. They had tried to cool it by installing a fan, but it only helped so much. It would only be worse as summer really took hold. His leg itched constantly in the heat. Miles sat next to him, the drawn curtains making it worse, and talked. Miles came to visit when he could, usually at least once a week, and Julian was glad for the company. But lately, he had spent most of his time talking about things which didn't mean much to Julian.

Everyone had noticed the small pin on Miles's collar. It was the same as Willman wore. Since they had split departments, Miles always looked tired and harassed. Julian watched him as he talked, listening but not really understanding. He rambled on about the paperwork, and the completely inflexible rules. Julian only half-heard him, wondering how long it would be until his next medication and a blessed relief from the itching for a few hours. "They think we have some sort of power," mused Miles, thinking aloud. "But really all we do is work by the rules. It's not easy sometimes. We have this project I have to announce soon. I had a lot of better ideas than the winners but they would take too many variances. I don't even want to ask about them. But you'll learn about that soon enough."

Bashir looked up. He almost asked Miles how he had learned to cope with it. He was no longer the same Miles O'Brien Julian remembered. He didn't want to find that everyone had changed that drastically. He didn't want to become like Miles.

There were so many questions that needed to be asked. But Julian could not find the words to form them. It would make it too real, and he didn't know if Miles could really answer them anyway. Miles must have noticed how uncomfortable he was because he changed the subject. "It's been pretty hot lately. They say it gets real muggy later in the summer. You should be out of here by then."

Julian was still only half listening. His leg was driving him crazy. "If I don't tear this open before then just to stop the itching."

Miles halfway smiled. "At least it keeps you from being bored." Julian glared at him, not appreciating the attempt. "I couldn't stand this, myself." His voice grew quiet. "No matter how bad the job is, it's better than having too much time to think."

Julian became serious, "There's been no word?"

Miles shook his head. "Nothing. We're so cut off all we get is what they want us to know, no way to tell if they're lying or not.

"What about the rumors we've heard about the Federation colony?" asked Julian carefully, worried the conversation was taking a wrong turn but curious, none the less.

"Leaks from Sisko's office. I hear a lot of them from my staff since they eat lunch with his."

"So, it's true?" asked Julian.

"Some of it. Leaks tend to get creative along the way. I don't think anyone's squashing this one since it's serving a purpose." Miles was beginning to sound cautious. Julian had heard the rumor of a Federation colony that had not surrendered, and been ripped apart by the Jem'Hadar. Neither of them would have been surprised if it was true. But it had worried a lot of people who didn't know as much about the Jem'Hadar as they did.

A nurse arrived, tapping on the curtain, and Julian looked relieved. Miles checked the time. "I've got to go. I'm supposed to meet Jadzia for lunch."

Julian nodded. "Well, don't be late. You know her. You'd never hear the end of it." He was looking at the nurse when he said it, waiting for Miles to leave so the itching would stop, but looked up in time to catch the sudden grief that passed through his friend. Miles looked utterly lost for a moment, before muttering, "Yeah, I know." Julian watched as he disappeared, wondering how hard it would be to leave this place and go into the world that was destroying his friends.

o0o

Jadzia was waiting for Miles, several reports in hand, and their food. It was soup again, always soup, but they had made it very thick and seasoned it well. Or, he thought, Jadzia had. She tended to do her own and shared it with her lunch guests. They had taken to comparing their supply use reports informally at a meal to make sure all the figures matched. Even a slight discrepancy could delay the monthly supply shipments. The stored supplies in the warehouse were only for emergencies. They pushed the food aside for a few minutes, and compared the main figures. As everything matched, they went back to their food. He looked around for her small pot but didn't see it. Seconds wouldn't be available until dinner.

"If this is from there," he said, nodding towards the server, "you did a real good job today."

"We picked up some new people for the crew. I had Ben recommend some good questions to ask. I guess it paid off."

"I'll be sure to show up personally tonight. Never get seconds when the staff brings dinner."

She paused, taking a breath. "How is Julian doing?" She wore a peculiar expression.

The question surprised him. He usually mentioned their friend, but she had never asked before. "His leg itches. I guess that's a good sign." He looked at her, and the people sitting, eating, being careful what they said. "It's going to be hard for him, though. He's not going to have any way of easing his way in. And he's got Willman to deal with."

She nodded, quite calmly and said in a matter of fact way, "He'll manage. He won't like it, but he'll get used to it. Willman will make sure there's nothing to be confused about, at least."

Miles watched her play with Worf's ring again, and was surprised by the lack of sympathy. "You haven't seen him in a long time."

"I . . . can't. I just can't go in there." She was afraid and not hiding the fear from him now. She avoided going near the hospital at all. But this was the first time he'd seen the fear. "When will you be announcing the new projects?"

The shift in mood was instantaneous. He wondered how much she hid behind her calm facade. "Very soon. You may even have more volunteers then."

They sat for while longer, just talking, and yet Miles could not get the glimpse of terror he had seen out of his mind.

o0o

Justin studied the vial containing a small amount of the planet's soil, and then his friend. The soil had fused itself into a dark granular chunk, and with care a small piece had been broken off. The initial test had been done a month before, and the small chunk was placed in a chemical solution in which it began to dissolve. As the chemicals broke down, they changed color. At the same time, a piece of a core from the most recent terraforming of the same age was tested. They watched as the colors in the two dishes turned an identical color. Justin and Jaro stared at the two vials, until the chemical reactions had finished and they were sure.

He'd had a small supply of the chemicals stored in his personal rooms, and they had managed to make due. Next time they would have to find a different way. But now, Justin believed, even Jaro *had* to know.

"We did it." Jaro shook his head, in disbelief. In the first twenty samples they had hit upon a formula that worked, and would make the grey soils of this planet productive. Neither of them had anticipated that. It might have taken years, but for Justin's sudden inspiration. Even then, neither expected to discover the answer so soon.

Justin's heart was pounding. The excitement was enormous. But he'd never really liked living on the edge, and he knew that this could lead to victory or disaster.

Jaro was ready to celebrate. "The Prophets must be with us," he said.

Justin was more cautious. "We may have. These chemical tests are not entirely conclusive. We have to run a larger test." There was silence as reality sunk in. "I believe it will have to be done in secret. The climate isn't yet right to approach anyone about our research." Despite his caution, Justin spoke softly, and carefully, stunned by the results of the test. It had taken literally years before. He was not prepared for this to happen so soon.

Jaro was plainly worried. "How do you propose to do any kind of test right now. How would we dispense the chemicals into the test area, or even have them?"

Justin sighed. "I have what we need. It's getting it out without looking suspicious. One, at most two of the dispensers are all we'll need. We can mix the chemicals on site. But we must have a reason to go out towards the mountains that will be believed."

Jaro was disappointed, and a little stunned. "You told me not to believe rumors. I didn't."

"Be glad they were true. We do a little test. Just a small patch will verify it works. The machines don't put out an em signature. We'll just have to be careful. We aren't forbidden to go into that area...we just have to have a good reason, and be back by dusk."

Jaro was still suspicious, but kept looking at the vial. "The risk is still very great. Something tells me that no matter how much we want to try it, it just isn't worth it."

Justin stared at the dishes, the colors still bright and glowing. "I will do it myself if need be. But I should appreciate your help. Listen, Jaro, this is a time to take that leap of faith your people speak of. If your Prophets didn't want us to succeed, why have such extraordinary things blessed our efforts?" It occurred to him that he was starting to sound like Walter. At least the Walter he'd known before.

And he could tell Jaro wanted to do it. Even if he could do it himself, it would be considerably harder and more risky. He remembered the moment his doubts and cautions had faded before, when they had first come to Cyrus, with the realization that, doubts or not, this place could give them their dream. Of course, he hadn't thought then that it would be so difficult a journey, with such danger. But the dream could not be allowed to fade. And fears aside, Jaro understood.

"Well, perhaps, " said Jaro, hesitating with each word. "We might do it here. We could mix the chemicals. Must we use one of your machines to dispense the fluids?"

Justin considered the idea and dismissed it immediately. "Where would we do it? We can't dig a hole in plain view. And the chemical composition of this area is quite different with all the habitation. We want something that can transform the lifeless grit out *there*, so we have to *go* there to do it."

Jaro still wasn't ready to accept the idea. "I suppose your right about that." Then he paused in deep thought, Justin watching closely. His face lit up with inspiration. "But, we could have a legitimate reason to go to the hinterlands *and* bring back enough of the ground to test. We just have to say we're experimenting with fertilizers and other things to see if we can get anything to grow in it. It would even be a good idea. We can make this place a garden, but not now. If we could plant the ground *now* with something that would feed us, it would buy us time."

Justin thought about it, wondering why they hadn't even tested the scrubby growth for its uses. "The native plants grow in this soil. Perhaps some of them are edible. We might use that idea, and then we'd still have something to do while we waited on the other." He wrinkled his nose. The smell from the sample they'd treated was giving him a headache. "And we couldn't keep a test here a secret. The smell is too strong."

Jaro coughed a little. "Yes. I hadn't considered that. But we should do the plant survey. We must get official permission and all of that. It could be a *greater* salvation than the other. *That* could be what the Prophets need us to do."

Justin had heard enough of the Prophets for now. Jaro was still wavering a little, but before the time came, he'd change his mind. And if they'd had such luck on one thing, perhaps Jaro's gods were right. That the sparse plant life of Cyrus could be useful had never fit into their plans. Who knew what they'd find.

"Yes, I'll write it up today. I know a pathway that leads through the best area for both.'

Jaro stared at the dishes. "You're sure we can do this without discovery?"

"Quite sure," he said, hoping desperately that it was true.

Jaro no longer looked as if he was in a mood to celebrate. But he touched the vial with the lab test, looking away from Justin. "I must know. I only hope this is not a terrible mistake."

Justin was already composing the proposal in his head that he'd present at Sisko's next meeting. He didn't want it just on paper. He wanted it to be very public. "Dreams are never mistakes."

Jaro still wasn't sure. He stared at the dishes and test, his look wary. Justin wasn't nearly as confident as he sounded either, but nothing else mattered but finding out. His eyes were watering and his throat was starting to hurt from the fumes. "Well, before we make ourselves sick we should get this taken care of," he said.

They resealed the core, hiding it in a container that made it look like all the others. The dishes were disposed of along with the tests they'd done for other, legal things. In a sealed container, nobody would know. The windows were opened and the fans blew in fresh air.

They both had headaches, and a slight cough. Justin intended to make sure there was always ventilation from now on.

But his life had turned a corner and the gloom all around him was gone. If only Walter could know, but then, he didn't talk to Walter anymore.

o0o

Julian looked forward to Lonnie's visits. Recovery was half empty and his best friends had already gone. Her visits were the one dependable distraction in his life. She didn't smile much, but they shared more than the words they spoke. If there was something really wrong, they could still speak of it in a letter.

She brought her lunch to share with him. Even if the food was monotonous, the company was welcome. He suspected it was same for her.

That day, the summer sun streaming in the skylight, she arrived holding a thick folder. She left it on his bed and went to get their lunch, but something was wrong. When she arrived back with the food, she just sat and stared at it.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"That," she said, pointing at the folder. "Dr. Willman has some rules I need to discuss with you." She picked up her food and began eating, but mechanically. It occurred to him she hadn't referred to him as Willy for a long time.

He picked up the folder and read the label stuck on the front. It said, "Staff Regulations". Opening it, he studied the first page. "Somehow I don't think I'm going to like this," he said. She sipped her lunch while he looked through the folder. "So these are Willman's rules." She nodded. He continued flipping through the report. It looked complicated. Closing it up, he took his bowl, and took his time to eat. He didn't want to hear all the rules and he could tell she didn't want to have to be responsible for telling him.

He wondered why Willman hadn't done it himself. But then, he didn't deal personally with his staff anymore.

There was only so much stalling that could be done, however. Both had finished lunch. He picked up the folder and handed it to her. "You might as well get it over with," he said, resigned.

Lonnie went through it, explaining the essence of the structure of authority Willman had created. He didn't have a problem with that. It wasn't much different than that at any military hospital. Before, when they hadn't had the Dominion there, it had been much different for Willman and his staff. He could tell Lonnie still missed that.

But Willman had gone beyond standard military rules. His own code of conduct was very strict, and he enforced it. That part wouldn't be so simple to live with. Julian knew he had never been good at following the rules to the letter. But Willman would demand he did.

Lonnie put down the folder and closed it. "I don't have to read these. We all know them by heart." She sighed. "They are really rather simple. Let's see. Staff will not complain. This means about your quarters, your schedule, the food, your supervisor, the weather, Dr. Willman–but especially this place. If you can find a private way to talk," she shrugged, "but don't let it get back to him. The second rule is do what you're told. Especially, no end runs around your supervisor. And no creative alterations of rules. He especially doesn't like that." She looked at him, very seriously. "That is the essence of it. You can read all the details. This is yours," she said, indicating the folder. "And you have to understand one other thing. He means it. He doesn't want to hear any complaints. He doesn't want to be challenged. And he does have the authority to enforce it."

He watched her face, so intent on his. It sounded excessive, and it worried him. "Is it justified?" he asked.

"I don't know. He believes it is and he won't give an inch. I think he's going to make us both chief aides. You'll have to watch yourself."

He studied her face, and saw she was worried about him. He was, too. He looked at his leg, still in its brace, actually grateful for its slow healing for the first time. "I guess I have some time to think about it at least."

"Some," she said. She smiled, but it wasn't much of a smile.

She stayed for a while. But the others had heard despite the curtains, and there was too much silence outside. Neither could think of anything to say.

"I guess I should go," she finally said.

"Probably," he replied.

He almost read the rest of the folder, but decided to wait a little. His leg wasn't healing as quickly as Willman had hoped. He'd have time.

Instead, he picked up his book. Cyrus had had a large database of fiction, and he was making his way through the spy stories. For the rest of the afternoon, he'd worry about someone else's life but his.

o0o

A few weeks before, Miles had had the task of announcing the two new projects. Sisko had given him the job in keeping with their new structure of authority. Miles was on the first layer under Sisko, and it was his responsibility to find something for people to do. So, since he'd come up with the projects, he could make the speech about them, too.

He didn't like speeches. He'd much rather have been buried in a pile of reports than have to give one. But he'd made it as quick and informal as he could. Then he'd fled to the safety of his office and the mound that never stopped.

The first had been a given. The channel they were digging around the deck had been going on since the beginning, but in fits and starts. When they had the machines it had gone faster. But since, it had slowed considerably. When the weather was better, it was easy to get volunteers. But when it was cold or rainy, hardly anyone showed up. With the building summer heat their numbers were again dwindling. Those who did so took away a measure of control, having made the choice themselves. But it had to be done before the winter snows and icy temperatures made it impossible to finish. It was that or be inundated in mud the next spring.

It was different now, organized and proceeding. People applied to work there. There was no requirement that they had to, but still many did. Instead of coming and going at will, they got assigned to shifts. The channel was moving along much faster than it had, but somehow Miles thought something had been lost. Now, this big ditch they'd started digging to help themselves was just as official as all the rest. The diggers got to go home tired and feeling useful, but that little magical sense of control had vanished.

He almost wished they'd been able to leave it alone. But he saw the way things were. Nothing here would be allowed to continue if it bore a hint of freedom. The Dominion could control with the thump of Jem'Hadar boots, and the people who survived would learn to behave. Or they could do like they had on Cyrus, exert a control so subtle that hardly anyone noticed how complete it was. Sometimes he went to bed hoping that on Bajor they'd been as delicate about things. There were worse places to live on that side of the border than Cyrus.

Sometimes he watched as they dug out the grey soil. It was being piled into sandbags, to be lined along the side of the ditch before winter set in. It was hoped that the sandbags would deter some of the mud if the ditch overflowed. And it gave more work for those who wanted it.

The other project was tricker, but even more necessary. Their source of water was the river, and when only the original population had lived there, the existing system was sufficient. But now there were so many more people, and the river ran right next to where they lived.

They'd tried to keep the water clean. They'd run pipes as far away as they could for waste, and yet as much care as they took, it was growing murkier near their homes. The second project broke the rules; it required small teams to go past the mountains and divert a small stream into a large pipe. From there, a series of pipes would be set up to connect to the new housing units they were building. He'd been just a little surprised that it had been approved by Them. Before the end of summer it would be done. Everyone was eagerly awaiting its completion.

There had been a lot of interest in that project, but it took only a small crew. And that crew had to be approved after an investigation of sorts, given that they would be going into territory which was technically off limits. The resulting crew had all come from the station, although a few of Vance's old staff had tried. But they'd already resigned in protest and were not considered trustworthy enough to take the risk.

Another crew was setting up the piping system on the platforms, but that one hadn't had as large a response. Still, they were making a visible mess as the pipes were set in the grey soil.

Miles scribbled down a quick report on the day's progress. At the end of the week he'd summarize it all in a report. The projects were for their own people, but like everything else all the details had to go to Them.

He thought about the mud channel and how it had meant so much more. He'd taken that away. But then he pulled out a small baby toy from his coat pocket. Was Kirioshi getting enough food? Was he very small like so many of the little ones on Bajor following the Cardassian's departure? Would he be one of those quiet, haunted children Miles had seen too much of before his father found a way to bring him home?

o0o

Sisko had been stuck in his office all day, obligated by various meetings to miss his daily walk. But it was later in the afternoon, and all that was done. The residual heat of the early day made the office stuffy, and the windows didn't let in enough of a breeze. He closed his inner office door, told his aide he'd be back and set off on his walk.

He was on his way back, taking his time, when he noticed Vance approaching. It was the first time he had seen the man in months. Vance had stopped, staring. Sisko, feeling uncomfortable, tried to keep things calm.

"Mr. Vance, is there a problem?" he asked as neutrally as possible.

Vance continued to stare. "I'm sorry," he said slowly, with disdain, "but I don't have conversations with collaborators."

Sisko stopped dead, taken by surprise. After a minute, still shaken, he said carefully, "I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr. Vance."

Vance was still staring. Sisko moved closer, watching the former director of the colony as he stared. The word deeply hurt. He wanted to walk away, but he couldn't. He had to defend himself.

Vance looked away, checking the time. "Excuse me, Captain, but I need to get home."

Sisko knew that he should let him go, and not make the incident any worse. But deep inside an anger was building, and Walter Vance was the only convenient target. He came closer, standing only steps away from Vance, staring himself now.

"You don't approve, I know," he said slowly, anger sharpening his tone. "But I'd like to know what suggestions you have. We are being left alone. The only contacts we've had in the last months have been because we made a special request, and all of them have been granted, I might add. I'd like to know how you think we are going to eat without cooperating with them. I'd like to know if you've thought of a way to get off of this planet. Mr. Vance, when you come up with something of a more practical nature I'd be happy to listen to you. But until you do, please don't make judgements about things you know nothing about."

Vance looked up at him, sadly. "I pity you, Captain. You just don't get it. Now, may I leave?"

Vance kept staring, anger tinged with pity. Sisko moved out of the way and Vance continued on, hurrying past Sisko and the entire complex of offices.

Sisko continued walking, slowly this time, staring straight ahead. No matter what Vance had said, he did understand. He had taken the position because he had to; he'd chosen to bring his people here. He would pay the price alone. He'd been forced to compromise his friends because he could trust them.

But what he'd said to Vance in anger was also true. They didn't have an alternative. He knew, when he looked at the Vorta, that one false move on their part and that smile would no longer be so pleasant, the orders would no longer be couched in polite requests. No one liked the way life was, but he knew it could be made so much worse, so easily. Vance would never understand this.

But it would not have hurt so much to hear the word if it did not have a truth to it. He hated what he was doing, but it was his choice. He could not go back into his office yet. He couldn't stand to look at the reports that went to Them. He was allowing Them to use him as a personal pawn, but built a shield around the reality. It was a little too real then, and he was angry at Vance for reminding him of it.

He kept walking, heading further away from people and especially from the cluster of buildings where the illusion of control was allowed to flourish.

He crossed the bridge that led to the small field and studied the contrast. One side was green and plush, the field growing a lush crop. The other was dark and solid, with a fuzzy greenish covering of native plants. It was not yet soil, but had gone far beyond the grey broken rocks that surrounded it. It was in transition, as the people it was meant to help feed were. He knew what it was to become, but feared for his people. They had some greater use for Cyrus than this.

He was still angry at Vance, and sitting in the shade of a crevice overlooking the field, allowed his anger to turn towards Them. He stared at the field, hating both Them and himself for what he was doing, knowing that he would do the same if he had to chose again.

o0o

Colette–Sir–was stacking forms. Megan guessed they were the first fills she was preparing for the new recruit. Sir was very precise in everything she did. She gestured at one of the greysuits to move the mounds to the desk. The new recruit had gone to lunch and would be back soon, and was much slower at the forms than she was. But she had gotten too much notice to be stuck with them and Sir didn't want to lose her. She was doing mostly second fills now, even some third fills, which was as close to a complete form as the staff, save her two cronies, Sir ever let them see.

Unfortunately, she was not too busy to do the special forms. But Megan could guess what they were now, and why odd figures were supplied. Sir could have written them in herself just as easily. But while officially nobody tracked who filled out what, but she was sure it was done. Perhaps that is what had got her so much notice, for she was efficient and accurate and Sir only promoted the useful. Since things outside had worsened, more of the warehouse people summarily "removed" including this time all the supervisors, technically CA, she wanted to look nothing less than diligent and useful and one who only did as told. Sir had spent two days in solid meetings after that, everyone grateful for the quiet and not being watched. But department heads did not spend hours in meetings here, not unless there was serious trouble. Since she'd returned the day before Sir had been tense and on edge far more than the time before.

She had been reminded, each small promotion, that Sir had "plans" for her. Some of the CA Medical Silvers had lost their bracelets already, Darla training for a better position where she could too. She was quite sure that Megan would be first. Medical was strictly run but not as much as Supply and they heard more talk. Darla was encouraging her to hurry the process. If they decided on examples inside CA, they'd pick the expendable, especially the Silvers.. She was hoping to be so well noticed that some other department could steal her from Supply before that.

She had stacks of work to do, but none of it pressing. Going home, changing out of her uniform, eating a relaxed meal and getting to see the next part of the video they were watching was all that was on her mind when the man entered and stopped by her desk.

She looked up, trying to look busy again. He wore the wrong grey for this part of the office. "May I help you?" she asked.

"Miss Tattalin, when you are done you're to follow me." It was flat, not emotional or demanding. But he expected her to come.

She tried not to look too nervous. The questions that danced in her head came without permission. Had she done something wrong? Did someone have a question about one of those special forms? If they knew, was he there so Sir would figure it out and be pushed into making a fatal mistake?

She looked at the forms on her desk, knowing she was too rattled to work on them, especially while he stood and waited. He wasn't going to leave. Being cooperative would be the best she could do.

She hoped her voice sounded normal when she told him she could finish the rest tomorrow.

He said nothing as she followed him out, but she could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on her as she disappeared out the door, and almost smell the tension.

They turned up one of the hallways which went a direction she'd never been. There was security at the doors. She didn't look at them, and the forms had taught her how to keep the mask solid and not betray the certainty that inside something very bad was waiting.

The escort stopped by a door and she was told to go inside. Tentatively she opened the door, not covering the surprise when she recognized the blacksuit at the desk, the one that had taken the children, and shoved her into the dirt before ordering her brought here. Warily, she sat, trying to squash the panic that something was terribly wrong. Blacksuits were supervisors of supervisors. They dealt with the Vorta and the Jem'Hadar. They could change her life in an instant as he already had. Her just being here, even if not a word was said about the warehouse, would carry a dark message to everyone.

He smiled, calm and apparently relaxed. She was sure it was a message, but perhaps a very subtle one. She banished the edge of panic and appeared just as calm now, but remembered how he'd taken the children. If he had gotten them to a doctor they were probably fine. If not, then they might be gone. Needing to look cooperative, she chose to believe he had saved them.

"I wanted to talk to you earlier, but this ongoing problem had made it hard to find any time," he said. Of course the warehouse and empty storerooms said to be full was the problem. Just in case she hadn't figured it out he would be sure to remind her. "I've been watching your work and we're all impressed. The recommendation we got to add you to our staff was an excellent one."

*Had to be Collette,* she thought. She was too nervous now. She was doing so much of the work herself her staff should. She didn't trust them. Before, in that other world where they just upped the cost and let the smugglers slide, she'd done the same kind of work. Had she been connected even then? Was she still?

"Thank you, Sir. I do the best I can." She said it with pride. All other things aside, she would do her best if she was going to do it at all.

"I can tell you you're slated for a big promotion soon. I can't say more. The only thing which could delay it would be our recent . . . difficulties . . . since advancements could be frozen. But I hope to have very good news for you soon."

She was hoping out of Supply and as far from Collette as she could get. It had already been suggested she would need a new suit. Big promotions were usually out of the department. The gratitude in her voice was quite genuine when she thanked him enthusiastically. The higher up, the further from Supply, the more likely to survive the coming disaster.

But she was getting a new feeling now, as if this wasn't just about the warehouse or a promotion but something personal. He looked as if he was actually smiling as he finished up the official review.

The look in his eyes was different, an after-work sort of look. "Ah, I happened to miss lunch from a meeting and was going to get an early dinner. Would you like to join me?" The words were light, as if he was looking forward to it and his eyes had lost their shadows.

It was a game. But she'd played games before. She smiled, the feeling very odd. But it must have been convincing enough. "Certainly," she said cordially. But now she was growing more curious than before. Something besides the warehouse was up. She had been good at office politics since she had learned to always listen to what was left out.

"Wonderful," he said with what she believed to be honest enthusiasm. They passed down the unfamiliar corridor again, past the room and to an outside door. She had never been this direction. Outside wasn't really outside here, because the passage way was solidly enclosed. If this was where the top CA people lived, they had reason to stay out of sight. They passed blacksuits like him and the top level, really-do-the-work greysuits who mattered more than the rest. She was alert, relying on senses that had served her long before the Dominion had interrupted that life. They turned into a small dining room and he led them to a private room, closing the door behind them.

She sat a little hesitantly, nervous now. He showed her a menu with the days selections. They were different than in their little cafeteria or the better one with the offices. While she was trying to decide, all of them dream meals now, he caught her by surprise.

"We'll be joined by the family soon," he said proudly. "They were in school. Nanny will bring them."

Megan was on edge now. Family? Nanny? Blacksuits had been known to pick Silvers for their mistresses. She didn't want to but would not refuse, if that was his game. The good she would gain would be very good with a yes. The bad would be worse than normal with a no.

The back door opened and two small children rushed into the room, heading towards his extended arms. A huge wave of relief swept over her, a genuine feeling when she thought she'd been rid of them, at the sight of Chele and Tanni alive and well and smiling.

"Sit now," he said gently, and they climbed in the other chairs.

Then they were watching her, looking happy but hesitant. A pang of guilt was felt and quashed quickly. She had decided to forget them before. They were gone. Now they were sitting and waiting for their dinner next to her, laughing and healthy and well. Relief won out and she pushed her chair out and held out her arms. With his nod of permission they were soon climbing onto her lap and babbling away about all the time that had been in-between.

But something miraculous happened. There was joy. The feeling was real and strong and she hadn't thought she could remember what that was, but here they were and she was so grateful. Their mother was dead, but in an odd way she had saved them for her.

He was smiling, the kids finally climbing down and to their chairs as their dinner came. She had picked the dish which was her favorite and just looked at it, having wondered if she'd ever enjoy it again. The scent filled her mind and without intending to, she smiled.

She took that as a sign that this was a good thing even if she didn't really believe in signs.

They ate quietly. He was hungry and she was enthralled in each bite. The kids ate their food as if they had known worse. But they were happy. Before the nanny came she got another hug. He apologized for having to rush things but he had more work to do that night.

She had almost forgotten that outside was misery and inside was fear. He was relaxed, cordial, almost "normal". "I'm so glad they finally got to see you. They've been asking for weeks." He paused. "I had to see how you were doing, of course."

A small sliver of reality intruded. Not all the Silvers lasted long. Better to not have them meet at all if it was to be a last time. Even she could see the logic of that. He was using them. She was using them too, now. But they were alive and healthy and even looking happy. She would take whatever gifts life had for them.

And he was a blacksuit. Maybe he was fishing for information on Sir. If it came to it, should she? Should she now, knowing they already suspected? Would it prove they should save her? Would having a blacksuit protecting you be enough if it was as bad a crime as it sounded to be to them?

"Would you like a triple fudge ice cream?" he asked.

Before her other thoughts, she might have but now it seemed merely polite to ask for one. It didn't stop her from enjoying every bite but there was no conversation.

Then he started talking, almost disconnected from the place, about the children. He talked about their games and how they had finally started to laugh. They had ask about her after he told them about their mother. She had died that day, the hospital having lost power, as she was on life support. The children had accepted it too easily. Both sat silent for a time, him breaking it by taking her hand.

She tensed but did not pull it away. "Would you like to have dinner again soon, perhaps when the kids don't have to go so early? I want you to see them." He looked away and said softly and distantly, "They almost didn't make it the fever spiked so high. Then I found out they'd go to an orphanage and decided to adopt them myself."

CA was supposed to have families and marry. But now she was sure he wasn't, not yet. But he did love the kids. The way he'd said the word "nanny" she could tell he didn't want her with them. Why had he deliberately brought her and them together now? What did he want her for? A mother for his kids and a wife showing potential they'd approve of? A mistress, thought she was doubtful of that.

She didn't like him, but then she didn't dislike him either. He would remove her from the Silvers and certainly from Supply. She would be able to sleep at night, even if it was next to him.

"Certainly," she said, quite honestly. She was already looking forward to seeing the children again. She smiled and it was a genuine smile. Never mind they were using each other and them. Everybody used people when you were trying to survive.

"Good," he said, letting go her hand. "It will be a couple of days but I'll let you know. I'm sure they'll be very excited."

"Thank you," she said as they left, and he guided her to the connecting door. A security man, waiting politely told her to follow him. Security was now required to move around the offices at night. She wished the passage way with the heavy clear shield between the offices and home was solid too, so she wouldn't have to look. He left her after he opened the door to her building, still perfectly polite.

The message was so clear.

Several people came out of the day room, looking at her curiously, then going inside.

She retreated to her room, changing out of her uniform. She wanted some privacy to think about things, for she was sure there was much more to come. She didn't want to have to answer Darla's questions or see her looks. But there wasn't any privacy here unless she wanted to take a very long shower. And she still wanted to see the video.

Walking into the day room she acted as if everything was normal. The story on the video was very catching and they had a room full. They were all curious. She had no intention of satisfying any of it. "Did you watch it yet?" she asked.

Darla didn't bother to get up from where she was draped over the stuffed chair. "No, we decided to wait in case you came back for the night."

There was an uncomfortable silence while she squeezed herself into the group, and the show was started. The mood shifted as the recap ended and the moment of jeopardy was resolved, the next section of the story beginning with one which was sure to end with more jeopardy. But it must have worked since they would be there the next night, all of them.

When the end came, and the heroine had disappeared and everyone was worried she wondered if when she vanished from their world they'd be quite as upset. They would know where she'd been by tomorrow. More importantly, *Sir* and her flunkies would too. She would be surprised if she ever saw another special form again. Maybe she'd even get transferred without his help.

Darla gave her a curious look afterwards but didn't ask. She knew there wouldn't be an answer, at least not from Megan. They said good night to each other and turned off the light, but Megan was having trouble sleeping. She didn't know if what had begun was salvation or slavery, but then she didn't care as long as she ended up on the nice side of the passage way when all was said and done.

o0o

A week after deciding to perform the test, on the pretense of surveying the native plants for useful ones, Justin Blanchard and Tarlan Jaro had set off toward the mountains at dawn. Along the way they did collect native plant species, to avoid suspicion, but Justin led them along a clear path that led towards the mountains where the caves were to be found.

They had gathered nearly half of the sample bags by the time they reached the caves. Jaro followed Justin into the carefully concealed opening to the cave and stopped. "You wouldn't even know this was here." He was awed by the cave walls. The rock had strands of odd colored minerals, and the normal grey stone that littered the planet was dark grey and hard. A bit of light filtered down from somewhere above. It was beautiful.

Justin had hardly noticed the display of light and color. He had been busy working a control hidden in a crevice. Suddenly, a larger cave, behind them, became visible when lights came on deeper in the system of caverns.

Jaro stared at the light and followed Justin as he moved through the small cave to the largest one which lay beyond.

He was stunned. Around him were neatly arranged lines of machines, from the smallest mixers to the largest of the deep injection models. And sitting in the back was a replicator. Jaro stared at it, suddenly deeply disturbed. All of this was contraband, even if it did not explicitly fit the description they had been given. No matter how successful or helpful their experiment, he knew the overlords above would not forgive a violation of this degree. The only thing missing were the large cookers. This room would mean death for anyone who knew of it.

Justin was looking around the cave. "We have everything we need to remake this planet, if we're successful. We won't even need the big machines. This is working out perfectly."

Jaro stared at the replicator. "How did they miss that?"

"It wasn't officially here." He moved toward the smaller dispensers, picking out one near the edge. "This one should do. Let's hurry and get this out."

Jaro helped him carry the empty machine towards the first cave. Something bothered him. "How did they miss this? They scanned the whole area."

Justin pointed towards the blue-green streaks in the grey stone. "You can't scan thought that. Willman discovered these caves a long time ago."

A sudden thought paralyzed him. "Does he suspect? If he knows about these caves . . . ."

Justin hurried back into the larger cave, returning with several small containers Jaro recognized as the chemicals. He set them down carefully.

They started mixing the chemical soup that would do the work of the large, bulky cookers. Jaro started coughing a little, and wished they'd finish soon. The chemicals were very concentrated, and would be mixed with water from the little trickle of a stream that passed through the cave. But the smell was already horrible.

To distract himself from the fumes, he asked, point blank, "Does Willman know about this place?"

Justin shrugged, "I'm fairly sure Willman has never seen this one."

They carried the dispenser and the chemicals outside, the chemicals inside specimen gathering bags. It was buried in a pile of rocks along with the chemicals. There were no small animals to chew through the containers, nor any larger ones to dislodge the rocks. As long as they didn't call attention to themselves, the hidden materials should be quite safe.

They took another pathway back through the rolling hills, gathering different specimens, and arrived back well before dusk, nothing suspicious about their journey. They would spend the next week analyzing the plants for possible uses, and perhaps in a month would need to make another trip to gather more of the most promising of them. It would all be fine, Jaro told himself. He could not dismiss the sense of foreboding he felt, but it could not compete with the absolute need to know if they were right.

o0o

Duncan studied the forms, choosing the most obvious example before he turned back to his problem. The numbers were recorded with such sloppy form as to make them unreadable. It was only the worse of the examples he'd selected, and which would be included in his report to Dax. He was certain that the man would be moved to a job where he could do no harm, but he had a growing sense of alarm about the situation. Since he'd been promoted to Training Officer for the new clerks, he'd noticed how quickly they learned that it was about much more than forms as they were incorporated into the small society which was Supply. He could watch as they started to take special care with their work, as they realized its was really about life and death. But this one didn't care. It wasn't that he didn't know, but it was of no concern. If he led them into a catastrophe and disappeared; it was no matter to him.

Duncan didn't know how to deal with that. He had tried all the polite ways of getting through. Then the reasonable ways. All he got was resistance and disinterest. It was time for something else. If the attitude could not be addressed, he had another report he was preparing, not about work but attitude, which he was planning to officially submit.

Turning to the man, sitting at the desk in the otherwise empty office, he waited until he got his attention. He slapped the form down in front of him, waiting for him to look.

Finally he was staring at it. Duncan had reserved the room, used for meetings as needed, for the whole afternoon. He had time. Pointing at a particular figure, he snapped out his question. "What is this number?" he demanded.

The man stared at it for a time, as if he couldn't figure it out himself. Then, with his attention elsewhere, he answered. "Three – two – five," he said, with much attitude.

Duncan kept his voice low and even, demanding his attention. "If I read it, I'd say *two* thirty-five." He lowered his voice more so it was necessary to listen closely. "Do you realize what this mistake could do to everyone here?"

The man looked up now, resentment in his eyes. "You think they look at all those mounds of reports?"

"They do," said Duncan. "They run all the numbers. You'll notice that every last grain of supplies is to be accounted for and should it not be we don't get any. What do you suppose we eat in that case? What is the hospital to use as medicine? And of course, they'll look to see who made the error and assume that it was deliberate and what disappeared is hidden somewhere."

The man had leaned back and closed his eyes and was ignoring Duncan now.

There were rumors of things going on which could bring disaster. There were worse rumors which told of what They did when that happened. Duncan had hated his job at first, mindlessly filling out forms with numbers someone kept on a list. But he understood now. It had come quickly when he saw the fear in the officers eyes when there was a problem. He started looking at the forms and what they did. He liked puzzles. This was one he wished he had not come to understand so well.

The man continued to ignore him. "Look at the form," he said. "Read off all the numbers."

The man picked it up and threw it on the floor. Duncan retrieved it, needing it for the report and not willing to take a chance on it being damaged. But something was rising in him, a fear and an anger he could not stop. He was a loner. On DS9 he'd worked Ops, and mostly alone. But he never liked the little town atmosphere on the station where everybody knew your business. He wasn't social. His few friends were close but he didn't seek them and mostly he spent his off-duty time in his quarters. He'd never really belonged to anything until after the crash and his friends in Recovery. They were family. One at a time they were being drawn into the new society and as they were drowned by it the family was their comfort.

He studied his clerk, seeing disaster, maybe not from a form but eventually from something. He'd turned, facing the side wall, and was staring at the ceiling as if he was bored. Duncan stepped up directly behind him, the man trying to shift the chair but Duncan was holding it in place.

"What would happen if this form had been turned in?" he asked sharply, right into his ear.

The man jumped, suddenly aware of the change. Nervously, he muttered, "We won't balance. They'll send some Jem'Hadar to stomp around and scare everyone while it gets fixed."

Duncan put his hand on the mans shoulder, pressing slightly. He could feel the tension growing inside his target. More and more, he *needed* to break the attitude. Once he hadn't liked being a Training Officer. Just like he hadn't liked filling out their forms before. But They had taken everything, the few friends he'd had who had died when the Antelope crashed, all his hoped for future, and most of all the emptiness inside when he thought about the family he'd never see again. Now his hours at work was all that was left. Now the responsibility to make sure his clerks understood just how vital it was they do things properly and take special care was all that mattered. When work ended, Duncan retreated to his little dark quarters and felt empty except for the times he spent with his friends.

"You know. You have worked here long enough to understand. What would happen?" he repeated.

The man was tense but resisting. Duncan felt the frustration growing inside him, along with the need to let it out. He kept his hand on the shoulder, but was gripping it with his fingers now.

"They can claim all they want. How do you know that's what They really will do? How do you know they aren't lying?"

The man was getting scared, but wouldn't give in. Maybe he'd lost too much, thought Duncan. Maybe he really didn't care what would happen to himself or the rest.

"We do not have the luxury of making that assumption." Duncan spit out the words slowly and could feel the rising panic in his target. Fear was the first step. Fear of anything would do as a beginning. "As for your attitude, I will not stand for it. You will not be allowed to hurt these people."

He meant the transfer and whatever steps were taken after he filed the second report. There was no channel to report those who were questionable but this would go directly to Dax. But the man didn't know that. As Duncan gripped his shoulder tighter the tried to pull away.

Without warning, Duncan's other hand had gripped the hair on the back of his head, digging in fingernails and pulling back his head. The clerk was shaking now, all resistance gone. Duncan didn't let up on either grip, shoving his head down where he could see his own boot on the floor. "Look at your shoe," he whispered, utterly cold.

The man tensed, not moving, not daring to take a chance. He kept his focus on the toe of his boot even when Duncan let go. He was breathing in short little bursts and not moving at all.

Duncan was lost in a mist with fear mixing with anger and satisfaction and the intense need to control. He stood back and watched his victim, a small seed of satisfaction growing inside him. The man would remember this moment for a long time. When he was tempted to take chances with all the rest of their lives he hoped he could feel the cold hard fear he was feeling now.

Duncan walked up behind him, feeling vastly empowered. Without warning he shoved him to the floor, the man crumbling unmoving into a huddle, waiting for the next step. A foot, he wondered? Lifting his foot he tapped him on the side and watched as he cringed.

"When I leave you go home. You remain there until your told you can leave. You no longer work for this department but something where you can't be hurting your fellow residents will be found, and I will make sure you never do anything to anyone again."

The man tensed as his foot tapped him again, and Duncan picked up his papers. Taking them in hand carefully he stepped over the crumpled man and retreated. Closing the door he walked slowly to his desk, retrieving his reports. It was time for him to take an early dinner. He had them to finish and would do it at home where he could have privacy.

He saw the man as he cautiously slipped away and then the anger broke.

He carried the papers to his quarters, setting them on his table, shutting the door before he lost control and collapsed on his bed in exhaustion from the shock. The mist was gone, just an empty space where it had been. He lay there, unable to move, as if there was a monster inside he dared not ever let out again. He could feel his foot as it tapped the man, the immense satisfaction as he cringed. If he had not ended it then, how far might he have gone?

He sat up, completing the request for transfer, adding a note that due to lack of apparent concern for the accuracy of their reports or the consequences of inaccurate figures, the subject should not under any circumstances be placed in a position where he could endanger them.

Laying the request with the files together, he picked up the second report, the one he now knew he dared not mention. They would notice the man was afraid. They would ask and even if he said nothing they would wonder. Duncan knew that he could never allow the monster inside him to take over again. But his threat was real. Eventually there would be a wrong move and things would fall and he would have to decide how much the cost would be to keep that promise. It had not been to just one man, but to all who might plunge them into hell.

o0o

A little before dark, Sisko had returned to his office. Morris was still busy, finishing up a few reports after an early dinner. Sisko had not even looked at him, and closed the door to his office as soon as he entered, clearly upset. Morris was still there, a little later, when Dax knocked. He let her in. "Is he still here?" she asked.

"Yes. In his office, but . . . . "

She looked him in the eyes. "But what? Is there a problem?"

Morris shrugged. "He looked upset. He usually doesn't want to be disturbed when he's upset."

"Then he definitely needs to be bothered," she said. "He didn't make dinner, anyway." Besides the small file she was holding, she had a plate of food. "Why don't you go home now, Randy. You can finish those in the morning."

Morris knew when to leave, and went home.

o0o

Jadzia watched Morris hurry away, then closed the door. She crossed the room and lightly tapped on Sisko's door. He didn't answer so she opened it.

He had shoved the papers on his desk onto the floor and was trying to sort them out, looking embarrassed. But he relaxed when he saw who it was.

She sat the plate on a clear spot on his desk. "My crew worked hard on this. Eat it while it's still warm."

He gave up on the mess, and sat down. They had made the steaks again. He took a bite. "My compliments. You ought to do this more often." But he sounded depressed.

"Already promised to. Ben, what's wrong?"

Sisko shrugged. "Vance. I ran into him today. He told me what he thought of us." His voice dragged. She knew he had already been thinking about it. He methodically ate his dinner.

"I'll bet he didn't mince words either." She had been picking up the scattered papers, and finishing the last stack, had sat down.

"No. He was rather blunt."

"What did he say?" she asked, watching him stare at the wall. He didn't answer, but nibbled on the last of his dinner.

"Guess." He mumbled the word, still lost in thought.

"I can, but I want you to say it." She watched him as he nearly knocked the collected papers on the floor again.

"He called me a collaborator." He said it softly, taking a deep breath first.

"He's right, you know," she said neutrally.

"I know," he whispered. This time he did shove the smallest stack of files on the floor, the monthly use reports, watching them scatter. "But if Vance had his way the Jem'Hadar would be here. I'm not sure there was ever really a choice. The Vorta made sure I understood he wanted *me*. And I did bring our people here."

"I thought Barrett did. It was the closest stop we could make. It happened that way, Ben. None of the colonies in the area are very big. It would be the same if we hadn't come here. It's not your fault."

"But I'm still responsible." He was no longer mumbling. He was angry, at Them, but mostly himself. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to sit there and listen to the Vorta, making it all sound so natural. He has this smile. I can see him ordering the Jem'Hadar to tear this place apart with the same smile. And I keep wondering what they really want from us. I can't escape the feeling that we're being set up for something they have had in mind all along."

Jadzia had gone very quiet. Her sudden change in mood distracted him and for a moment he forgot how angry he was. "Something bad is coming. I don't know when. But I know some of us aren't going to survive it. I could feel it that day, at the hospital, feel death waiting." She looked up at him, trying to make him understand. He just looked confused and worried.

"Then why are we doing this," he said, pointing at the scattered reports, "if it won't matter."

"Because it does. Look, Ben. You're not Willman and not Vance. Vance would have us refuse to cooperate at all. Willman would have a curfew and extend his infamous rules to everyone. You are trying to do your best in a very bad situation. You're following your instincts. That is all you can do right now." She watched him closely, their eyes locked.

He looked away, rubbing his eyes. "Thank you, Old Man. But it doesn't make me feel any better."

"Nothing will. You are going to have to live with that."

He nodded. "I know. But it did help to talk. If you'd like to come some other evening and talk a bit more . . . . You need to tell me about this . . . feeling you have."

She nodded. "If I can." She handed him a paper, written in neat, careful printing. "I thought you should see this. It was dropped off in my office before I left."

He looked at it, especially the last paragraph. Then he handed it back to her. "Who is this?" he asked.

"My Training Officer. He is one of the survivors of the last trip of the Antelope. I intend to keep close watch on the situation. I'm glad he warned us. That's something we need to consider when we pick people for jobs or we may be inviting disaster ourselves. I already did the transfer to the ditch crew."

Sisko looked at the mess, picking up a stack which had landed in one piece and sat it on the desk. "After I was done with this, I sat here and looked at it. I'd really like to burn all of this. But we don't have any choice but live by Their rules. I just wish we could keep from making them our own."

She gathered up the scattered reports and re-stacked them. Sisko had picked up a pile of papers to sort. She picked up another. They worked for several more hours, quietly sorting the papers, and for a few moments let his burst of anger remind them that there is always a cost, and sometimes you have to pay it yourself.

End, Legacy, Year 1, Part 3, Chapter 13


	15. Part 3Lessons Chapter 14

LEGACY

An Alternative History of the Dominion War

Year 1

Part 3 - Adjustments

Chapter 14

There was no hard and fast rule about where you stayed at night, and for the last three nights, Jaro had spent the night at Justin's lab, working on the plant specimens. It was much more than a project meant just to cover their expedition, and Justin was fascinated by the idea of a usable crop which would not require any additional supplies. If he was to terraform fields which could give them a chance to feed themselves, it wouldn't help if there was no seed. Jaro was caught up in the excitement, but had been very moody as well.

"Look at this one," said Justin, holding a spine covered sample. "It has these little fruits."

The were round, and very hard. There were also very few of them on the spindly branch. "I wish my wife were here. She studies plants. She could tell you a lot just by simple examination." Jaro quit smiling. "Perhaps, someday," he finished as his voice trailed off.

Justin didn't offer false hope. "I do pity you. I believe I'm much better off, now, having no family to miss."

Jaro was examining the round fruits. "These are more like big hard seed balls than fruit. I'll bet there's a lot of seed inside. We should try to find more the next time out."

"Yes. We should try to grow it this year."

Jaro thumped the ball but nothing happened. It didn't even rattle. "If you think so. But it's so sparse. We might not get much for the space it takes."

Justin shrugged. "Still good to try," he muttered.

Jaro thought to himself that after the frustration of the *other* project, this one was pure enjoyment. They could do all of it in the open. And Justin was pursuing it with almost giddy excitement.

Jaro had to admit he liked that. And Justin's quarters were so beautiful and large. He liked spending time there.

But as small and utilitarian as it was, Jaro wanted to spend some time at home. "I'm getting very tired," he said. "I need to go home and get some sleep."

Justin had hardly noticed, sorting the samples by their characteristics, having cleared the table which had contained the projects history. Jaro was tempted to stay, but it wasn't just about needing sleep. He needed time to think without the near euphoria over their new vocation.

He moved where Justin had to maneuver around him, and was finally noticed. "Justin, I need sleep. I'm going home for a few hours."

"Use my room. I couldn't possibly," he said, a handful of cuttings covered in small seed pods in his hand.

"I'd just rather go home," he said.

"But remember curfew, get back in time. We can work all night. Except for the meeting," he said, suddenly frowning. He would have go to his office and fill out paperwork too. Jaro wondered if he was to be roped into that task as well.

"I'll meet you for dinner," he said.

"Yes, yes, then," said Justin, his voice trailing as he found a sample with a rock hard red pod on the end of each branch, and laid the rest of his bundle on the side of the table.

Tarlan was excited by the plants, and the possibilities, but troubled by Justin's total immersion. He had lived his whole life always a little on edge, watching everything, and Justin's total concentration on his dreams, without considering the consequences, scared Jaro sometimes. Today, with every other part of their existence forgotten, including the teraforming, he needed time to think. Whatever project Justin grew a passion for, very little could dissuade him from it

Justin didn't notice him leaving. He had gently closed the door and taken his time walking home. Then collapsed into a deep, and quiet sleep, waking after lunch had begun.

The time alone had helped a little to clear his head, and he was about to leave for a late lunch, when someone knocked on the door.

He recognized the young man, one of Vance's staff whom had quit when the takeover occurred. He and the others had stayed to themselves, and Jaro had never met him. But he did recognize the tone of his voice, and the urgency of what he had to say. He invited the young man inside.

"You have to be a lot more careful," he began as soon as the door was closed. Jaro was surprised by the worry in the young man's voice. "Were you aware that you and Mr. Blanchard were followed all the way from here to the hills? Or you could easily have been observed hiding your machines?"

Jaro tensed up, suddenly very worried. "We were collecting plant specimens," he said, but he didn't think he sounded convincing even to himself.

"And hiding contraband. Look, I'm on your side. I don't know what your planning and really don't want to, but I do know its secret. At least somebody around here has some nerve."

Jaro didn't know what to think. His carefully guarded sense of security depended on believing they were unobserved. The young man had shattered that feeling, and Jaro was now very uncertain again. "Are you saying it could be discovered?" he asked, his voice full of worry.

The young man smiled. "Not now. You have friends. The equipment is safe. When you want to use it, let me know. I'll get you to it. We got it far away from the cave, too. You could have led them to the rest."

Jaro was confused, and suspicious. The rest of what? All those highly illegal and dangerous things hiding in the inner cavern? "You were careful with the chemicals? They could be useless if the containers are damaged."

"Don't worry. They won't find them and they will be in perfect condition. I'm in H-4. Just let me know." Jaro was about to ask his name but he opened the door and left.

Jaro stood staring at the door, wondering all over again if it was a good idea, if they should not just leave the things where they had been hidden and concentrate on the plants. If he, or one of his fellows, had discovered their secret, then who else could?

He decided to meet Justin for lunch. He thought a late afternoon walk was in order after they were done.

o0o

Sisko was surprised when Willman arrived with his own supply summaries, standing awkwardly in the office, looking for the right desk. It was warm inside and Sisko did not close his door unless it was necessary. He asked the doctor to come in.

Willman was impatient. "Ben, why don't you get out of this stuffy office and get some lunch." The tone was light but the eyes were grim.

Sisko met his eyes. He said, cordially, "I wouldn't mind that. I'm told the chef today is one of the new people. That corner will do fine."

Willman dropped the box and he followed the doctor as he wandered across the square, after getting their meal, and sat at a table in the far corner, with no one else in evidence.

Over the meal, when conversation wasn't obvious, Willman had explained his news quickly. "I have a reliable source. I'm told that Blanchard is planning some kind of test. He's got machines hidden somewhere, and he's using some of them. He's already got them out. I know where they are hidden . . . " He glanced at the crowd, looking for particular people and not finding any of them. "Good. They aren't watching."

Sisko said, very quietly, "I didn't want to let them go. If the request had come across my desk as just a piece of paper I'd have said not yet. But he was sneaky. The idea of the survey is just too good an idea not to approve when everyone is watching."

"No, you had to let them go. They aren't ready yet. We'll stop it before they are. And I did warn you about him."

"I know." Sisko stared at the crowd. "But he's excited about this. I could hear it in his voice when he proposed it, whatever else they had in mind."

"That's the sad part, he's sacrificing one idea for another."

Sisko had eaten most of his food, and paused, slowly letting out the deep breath he was trying to calm himself with. "I'm going to meet with Dax later. I'll give her word of a meeting." Willman nodded, and both men finished their food. Neither of them betrayed how anxious they were to go.

o0o

The meeting was short and rushed, like it had to be. Willman had already outlined the location of the machines, and the best way to get there. "Recently Blanchard and his friend got permission to go out toward the mountains. They gathered native plants. They probably moved the machine then too . . . " Sisko's voice trailed off.

Dax was looking at the map. "This will take more than lunch. I can't possibly get away that long, at least for a day or so. We can't go snooping without a reason."

Willman didn't look happy. "I reluctantly agree. We just can't take the chance."

"As soon as you can . . . somehow I'll clear things." Sisko was very grim. "If you find it, destroy it. I want that test stopped, without alerting Blanchard and his friend if possible. If we're lucky they won't try again."

"I wouldn't count on that," said Willman. "You don't know Justin when he's really committed to something." He looked Sisko in the eyes. "The only real way may be stopping *him* directly. I don't think his Bajoran friend would do anything if we went after Justin. But destroying equipment will only delay their efforts."

"Only as a last resort." Sisko knew he could keep them from having the chance to try, but that would openly implicate more than Blanchard and the Bajoran in the act. He knew their experiment was illegal, but he had no desire to destroy the men themselves. Since his run in with Vance he'd been asking himself how much he was willing to pay. He couldn't bring himself to cross that line, at least not quite yet.

Willman would. Sometimes he wished he was in charge instead. Maybe things would be different. What terrified Sisko most was the knowledge that some day, it *would* come to that and by then he would deserve all the accusations Vance could make.

"Ben," said Willman, leaning towards him. "I know you don't like the reflection, but don't forget that by then it might be too late for everyone."

"I just wish we knew when that happens," he said. "But for now, get to it as soon as possible. I'll find a way to justify it. Check with me tomorrow."

Everyone nodded. Dax picked up her things and paused, watching as the others left. There was such sadness in her face now that the rest were gone.

"We have to stop them, Old Man," he said.

"Only if we're supposed to," she said.

She turned to leave, and he watched, wondering if it was already too late.

o0o

It was the middle of the night as Ben Sisko stared out the open window, watching the faint glow of distant lights. Not unusual of late, he could not sleep. Willman's news, and the implications for all of them was keeping him awake. He was trying to think of a reason for the private expedition, but had no believable ideas. Without one, they might as well tell the Vorta and let him send the Jem'Hadar to take care of it. At least it would implicate only those connected. Or, perhaps that didn't really matter to the Vorta.

He could not escape the worry that their actions would be far too late, that quite possibly all of this already was. The Vorta, with his slimy smile, was watching as they nibbled on the bait, not quite tripping the wire. But it was just a matter of time now. He hoped Blanchard, with his secret experiment, had not already snapped the trap and the hammer was just hovering above them.

And he could not dismiss Jadzia's odd, disturbing mood either. It was so unlike her. He'd known Dax for much his life, and the Trill, in both incarnations, simply did not give up like this. Jadzia was so quiet. She hardly spoke to anyone, and by and large was preoccupied with her inner-demon when not dealing with work. But that little glimpse inside her, and the terror he'd seen still haunted him. She said she saw death. He wanted to dismiss it, but knew Dax was not given to fantasy. He could not help but believe that she had, indeed, seen something which terrified her. That she had grown more withdrawn over time did not make him feel any better.

If he had never been to Bajor, never been led on the extraordinary journey he'd found as the Emissary or the worlds of difference he had found from the way he'd been raised in his society, perhaps he could have dismissed it as grief. But he had seen beings which knew both past and future, and perhaps they had given her the gift, for if he knew he could never be the man the Vorta demanded and try to save them from themselves.

Dax would go and try to find the machines. If they had not been used she would destroy them, even knowing it might not make a difference. If they had, she would do the same knowing the odds. Or perhaps because just the action of trying would matter. He longed for the white space around him, the faces and voices familiar but just masks covering what he could not comprehend, and perhaps even a hint of an answer.

He was doing nothing productive and morning would come soon. He was exhausted from the worry and didn't need to add lack of sleep. Perhaps he should ask Willman if there was something which would help on those nights when it was so close he could hear the trap slipping slowly closed.

He walked back to his quarters, not bothering to undress. Finally falling asleep, he dreamt of a mysterious dark place where death lurked, and woke from the nightmare to stare at darkness that surrounded him, wondering what hid behind its veil.

o0o

James finished his last stack of papers, filling them in the rear cabinet, as Morris came into the room. "You done yet, James?" asked Morris.

"Yes, with this stack," he said.

"Okay, we're all ready," yelled Morris, to the outer room. Rafferson mumbled something as Morris took James' arm and towed him out the door.

It was really unnecessary. He didn't mind going to dinner anymore. He talked to them, seemed to listen and respond, and nobody bothered him after they were done. Morris had gotten a little too close, following him home before. This was better. What they didn't know was they were just pale shadows in his mind. He couldn't get away from them, but this way they didn't intrude into his real world, the one that came alive when he painted.

He was still busy adding people to the painting. The night before last he had painted his grandfather. The old man was telling a story to a group of children, and James had finished them the night before. Having added the last touch to his grandfather, he finished the nightly routine, bathing and taking out the next days clothes. He dressed for bed, and sat on the cushion he used for such purposes until he had taken in the whole world, and could hear the children giggling and the sounds of his grandfather's animal imitations.

Totally lost in his world, he had gone to bed. He slept wonderfully well that night, better than ever before. He had missed his grandfather so badly. He had felt alone. But now Grandfather was with him, and would always be. Sometimes that day, at work, he would let himself hear the voices of the family and friends at his park. Sorting his papers and filing the endless reports that made life possible on Cyrus now, he knew his grandfather was near. He was very happy, actually cheerful. The food was good that day, and James was enthusiastic about eating. He surprised Morris by being ready for dinner before Morris was. James wondered why everyone around him looked so grim.

That night, and for several more after, he didn't add anything to the painting. He just sat and looked and listened to Grandfather. Sometimes he was himself, sitting in this room. Other times he was one of the giggling children. But he could not bear to lose the intense focus on the one man in the whole world that actually cared what he dreamed.

o0o

Walter Vance wanted to scream at them, all of them. Not just Sisko and his ilk, but the others who were digging the mud channel and considered themselves lucky, and even those who were doing nothing, because he believed that that was not enough. There was a rage at Them, watching, waiting, playing with the strings as if they were personal toys. He ate his food, and spent the morning reading. He took a walk in the early afternoon, sometimes as far as the hills which were off limits at night. Occasionally he thought about staying, but he would be hungry by then, and he had never been able to stand missing his meals. He would return by dusk, eat his dinner, and go back to his room. Then he would read until bed, and try to sleep.

But more and more often he couldn't and would give up and read the whole night. He needed to *do* something, to vent his rage and frustration, but he was confronted with the reality Sisko had planted in his head the day of their meeting. There was nothing they could do. But there had to be something, small perhaps, but meaningful that he could do himself. It had been another long night, and he had slept only a few hours after finally getting too sleepy to stay awake. He didn't have to get up so early, but the only thing holding his life together was his routine. He showered, and while getting dressed he noticed the ID tag he wore on a cord of material at night.

He held the wet material, preparing to transfer the pin to his clothes, when an idea came to him. He removed the round of cloth and laid it on the table. He waited for a moment, but nothing happened. He sat on his bed, waiting, but nothing came of it. It was time for breakfast, and he looked at the little pin, their mark of servitude. Taking a deep breath, he walked out of the room.

It was as if he was alive again, like a giant weight had been lifted from him and he felt light-headed. He even spoke to someone at his table, a rare thing for Walter. He felt like a child with a secret, and wondered when someone would notice. He finished and turned in his plate, noting an odd expression on the servers face, but he still didn't see. Walter was disappointed. But no one would notice if he went back to his room.

He decided to see the progress of the mud channel. There were crews working at several locations, from just beyond the point where the existing channel had been blocked to near the side where it would join with the administrative area's water supply. It was already hot, and most of the people looked overheated. But they looked satisfied, too. He pitied them. He felt superior to all of them at that moment, the lone man with courage. Several people spoke to him, small talk, and he returned it almost without thinking. It was a skill he had developed during his days promoting the project. He kept waiting, impatiently, for someone to notice, to say anything of the missing pin. But none of them did.

He was warm and he ate his lunch hurriedly, retiring to the shade provided by the buildings for the afternoon, forgoing his walk. It was a popular place to sit out the heat. He had more conversations, more small talk, and watched as the children played games in the shady area. He even went so far as to finger where the pin would have been. But nobody even looked. He saw all of theirs, though, on earrings, pinned in the hair, or to clothes. He realized they might just think he wore it on a chain, but he never had before.

When it started to get cool, and dusk approached, he understood that they didn't see him. He kept to himself too much. He must change that. If he was to make them notice he must cease to be invisible.

He had stopped worrying about the pin by dinner. It was too shadowy to tell anyway. He found a few conversations he actually enjoyed. It occurred to him he was doing it all wrong. He had to be part of them for his silent protest to have any effect. The next day, he would spend as he had this one, and perhaps they would notice that Walter Vance was still alive.

He read a little that night, but it didn't appeal to him. He looked at the pin, still attached to its cord, and almost put it on. He was a little apprehensive, noting that for the first time in the day he was alone. He even picked it up, but put it back. He would not surrender. He would maintain his protest. Tomorrow, they would notice. For the first time in a long time, he slept easily.

But a few hours later, he heard a noise. It wasn't one of the odd sounds his closest neighbors made. It wasn't loud, but near. It woke him, and he opened his eyes to see three Jem'Hadar standing in his little room.

Walter was terrified. He backed as far away from them as he could, and tried to escape when they reached for him, but was pulled out of bed anyway. One of them held the cord with the ID tag. It was put over his head. Shaking, Walter pleaded that he would not do it again, meaning every word. He would find something else. But they did not let him go. He was shoved forward against one of them while his wrists were pulled behind him and tied. He was roughly pushed back against the other, too scared to move. They forced open his mouth and gagged him. Walter's heart was pounding in anticipation and there was a loud roaring in his ears. The Jem'Hadar behind him held him firmly by his shoulders, but Walter was too terrified to resist. He stared at them, eyes open wide, unable to look away.

The third Jem'Hadar, standing behind the two holding him, handed the one in front a device. He remembered it from when the ID tags had been set. He followed its approach with his eyes, suddenly remembering the rule, trying to breath through his nose because he could barely breath at all.

The device was aimed at his tag. It beeped, and made a series of electronic sounds. Walter stared at it wide-eyed until they shoved his head to the side and he could only see the wall of his room.

They stabbed it into his neck, right at the base, into the muscle between neck and shoulders. He bit down on the gag, trying to be silent, but whimpered anyway. It was pulled out just as suddenly, leaving something behind. He was numb, knowing what it was. He heard another whirring sound, and the pain disappeared, as they healed the wound. It all sounded very far away to Walter, too stunned by the realization that he was the very first to be tagged internally to notice much anymore. He head was released and the Jem'Hadar looked blurry from the tears falling that filled his eyes. They pushed him forward again, and his hands were untied. He didn't resist. They pulled out the gag and threw him back on his bed. He watched in misty eyed shock as they disappeared.

He lay the way he had fallen for what seemed like hours. He was sure they would come back and violate him again. He muscles stiffened up and he had to relax them, and finally felt his neck. There was nothing to tell him where they had sliced open his skin. But when he moved he knew the thing was there, the device he couldn't remove, the device nobody would know was there unless he told them.

He would remember this night for a long time, he knew. And yet, he suspected that the outer tag, the one they had replaced, didn't matter now. He would wear it, but when he had gotten to know enough of the people out there for someone to see it was gone, he would try again. But not tomorrow, or too soon. He was too scared of them coming back.

Lying awake, he remembered Willman's story of Chandler and wondered if he had indeed gotten to be their first victim.

o0o

The Vorta was talking, elaborating some point which he had not yet gotten to. Sisko watched and listened, or at least looked like he was. But his thoughts were elsewhere. Sometimes the Vorta went on forever about something unimportant, as he was doing now. Eventually he'd make his point, but until then, Sisko was barely listening.

He had been feeling this way during meetings since his encounter with Vance, very distant, and detached from it all. He felt nothing. Deep inside, where the Vorta would not find him, he hid the real Sisko, and wore the face that was expected. There had been more meetings of late, most as pointless as this one.

Glebaroun launched himself into a big speech. Sisko thought to himself that he would be awhile. He watched the Vorta as he spoke, alluding to the future of what was now Sisko's home. He was curious what he would be saying if he was capable of honesty, wondering if he already knew of Blanchard's activities. Somehow, they needed to stop Blanchard's test. Sitting and watching the Vorta, he became more and more certain that the future, the one the Vorta envisioned, was far different than the one they dreamed of, and Blanchard was, without knowing it, leading them straight into the trap.

The Vorta continued to talk, while Sisko pulled himself further back, as if he was watching something from a distance. He listened to the particular words used by Glebaroun, and the enthusiasm that might be taken as genuine if it wasn't for the smile, thinking about Jadzia's sense of foreboding. He was finding it increasingly hard to believe that the Vorta did not know, and forced himself to bury the thought.

The Vorta was looking at him, expecting a reaction to what he was going to say next. "Captain, I realize that while things are a bit difficult now, it will not always be so. I believe this little rocky planet could someday be quite green, in fact. Of course, it will take a little time, but I think in the end you will all be quite grateful to the Dominion for our help and for our great patience as well."

He smiled, and Sisko had a chill run down his spine. Now he was certain that Glebaroun knew, and he had just been warned that there was only so much time left before all the tolerance was used up.

o0o

Darla said nothing as Megan studied her reflection in the mirror, the deep blue of the dress in contrast to all the dulled colors in the room. Of course it fit perfectly. It wasn't the first gift she'd found waiting for her. The others outfits had been more basic, but he was planning a small party for Chele's birthday and the parents of her friends would be there. It would be Megan's official introduction. She was sure that word of the dress would go beyond their small room, and reach the office. It would be most interesting what came of that. Since she had been sharing some of her meals with the blacksuit, Sir had become most careful about her.

She knew what the rest thought was going on. She didn't care. Sir had suddenly not needed her to fill out any of her "special forms" anymore. She suspected she was doing it herself and taking the chance, though if there were none at all it would be smarter. Megan no longer did any first fills, and had been promoted to doing mostly third fills. She was quite sure they were all legitimate papers. Even on her late days she didn't see anything even slightly questionable.

She was progressing quite rapidly and was sure that Sir was hoping to transfer her somewhere else asap.

She smoothed her hand down the soft, draped fabric, and allowed herself to appreciate what it did for her figure. He wanted to show her off as much as Sir wanted to get rid of her. She just wanted to find a way out of the trap she knew she would be caught in when they had finally had enough.

The dresses were just another image, no different than the uniform she'd hung up carefully before trying on the striking blue dress. She did enjoy their meals. He was intelligent and there were interesting conversations. But despite what her housemates were assuming, he had never as much as suggestively laid a hand on her. She was perfectly happy for them to continue in their assumption as long as it kept Sir from implicating her, not to mention the steady progress she was making towards losing the bracelet and getting out of Supply. The CA people knew she was not his mistress. But his continued company suggested he had greater aspirations. And the way the children ran to hug her now, and on the days off would spend all day playing with her when they could, were a gift for which she would be forever grateful. It reminded her how to feel when she didn't dare most of the time. With him, it was an arrangement. She wasn't sure exactly what he was to get out of it, but suspected he understood more than some, and his goal was also to survive. It was an experiment, after all. In the end, not everyone was going to pass.

But for both, the children were a complication. They had hostages because both cared very much about them now. Chele was going to be seven. She loved peacock blue, and it was no accident the dress was that color. As she careful took it off and hung it in her closet, putting on her favorite comfortable clothes, Darla finally spoke.

"Be careful," she said softly. "I know you think he can but I'm not sure even a blacksuit can save you if it hits."

Megan was finished with the dress, taking care it not be wrinkled against something else. She already knew that. But she was doing what she could. "It can't hurt."

"You didn't hear. They hit the warehouse again. Took the supervisors this time, came in the middle of the day and hauled them to the ship, then it went away. All the supervisors."

Megan suppressed a shiver, thinking of Sir and the way she'd been nervous all day. Supervisors were by definition greysuits, and did not wear bracelets. The day before more missing stock was discovered. She had been in the office all day, month end cycle so close they worked through lunch and hadn't heard until evening. Maybe Sir hadn't wanted them to know. If they were too nervous there might be mistakes and even if there was nothing wrong, it would be *assumed*. "It's better than doing nothing," she said.

"I suppose." Megan had picked up the papers inside the box, drawings from the children. She was smiling at them. "He's not married. If your not sleeping with him then I guess he might have other reasons. But if Supply is hit," she said, not finishing the sentence.

"I'm up for a promotion and a transfer out. I have reason to believe Sir won't get in the way. Best I can do." She careful put the drawings down, turning to face Darla. "You hear stuff. How bad?"

"I know all the exec's got talked to. They have to blame somebody. Maybe they don't have anything to do with it, but they are supposed to keep things in order. When things come down, they'll be blamed for not doing their job." She held up her hand and looked at the bracelet. "Maybe having a bracelet will be a better option after all."

Megan picked up the drawings. "He's scared," she said. She had never spoken of it to anyone, but could trust Darla. He didn't trust the nanny. He was making like he was interested in her so he would look like he was behaving. The nanny would be telling them he was keeping hands off. They didn't approve of single parents in their top layers, so she was *his* protection now. The nanny had made sure she noticed how she watched.

When she got out of supply and when the bracelet was gone she knew she'd have to make a commitment. But she would sleep with him and play wife and help both of them survive. And even more, make sure Chele and Tanni did too.

She couldn't bring herself to say she loved them, because she couldn't love anyone and play the game. But they made her happy when they laughed and played and acted like children. She needed to remember how to feel that way. Looking at the bright blue picture Chele had drawn, she said quietly, "They were with me when we were captured. I thought they were dead. I can't lose them again."

Darla just stared at the wall, past the mirror and the dress. "I just take life one day at a time lately. Maybe you should try it."

Her roommate slipped on her shoes, ready for dinner, then looked back at her. "Coming?" she asked.

Megan laid the drawings down, thinking of the smiles and how devastating it would be to lose them. But it was time for dinner. She had to keep playing the game. Slipping on her shoes she took one last look at the pictures and wondered if it the game would be as hard when she was away from this place or if she would be so used to it then she wouldn't notice it wasn't real anymore.

o0o

Walter had just gotten to sleep, after hours of trying, when he heard the sound. It was a small sound, rather undefined, but it woke him. Every sound had awakened him since they had come. He would sleep, eventually, when he was too tired to stay awake. But it would not be a restful sleep. Every noise was an interruption, even if he fell back into it instantly.

He had never gone back to the old pattern of staying alone, and had indeed gotten to know more of the world around him. And more and more he was becoming convinced that it was wrong to cooperate. Every time he could not sleep because fear filled him after a noise, and each day he dragged himself through, added to the seething anger that was growing in him. He needed to let it out. And the next morning, while dressing, he had an inspiration.

He felt his neck where they had placed the internal tag, and decided it was time to make his point. He would, once again, make his silent protest. If they came the next night, he didn't care. He could not live with the anger trapped inside him anymore.

Breakfast had come and gone, and Walter sat with several friends, waiting for the rest. In a few hours, those who had finished their shift at the mud channel would come and join them. He realized he didn't care so much if they noticed. This was for him, and for Them. If his friends noticed, then he would explain. If they didn't it would still serve its purpose. He rubbed his neck, briefly, feeling the small lump in the muscle. He scarcely noticed it anymore, but always knew it was there.

More people arrived. Normally, they exchanged small talk and stories. People with children brought them along to play, and for what had become very unofficial tutoring sessions. An older woman told stories, and was getting a careful following of adults as well. She was extraordinary. But Dorothy had a husband who was ill, and only came when she could. When she didn't Walter had come to miss her.

Eventually someone would provide the children with some sort of education, but for now they preferred to keep it very private, worried about what sort of things the Dominion might want to teach. A group of children in the midst of adults, seemingly playing, would not attract unwanted attention.

Others came just to not be alone. It used up a few hours. Walter had gotten to feel comfortable with these people. He liked them and appreciated the company. He glanced toward the main pathway, waiting for several particular friends who were digging rocks from the mud channel.

It was hot, and getting muggier as noon approached. He and his friends would retire to a shady spot later, to talk and play cards. Walter had never done that. They had taught him, and he had come to look forward to the afternoons. It passed the time, and he found life was far more tolerable when he had friends. Ray and Tara would be back soon, and he began to wonder if they would notice.

He saw things differently. He no longer felt superior to these people, now sharing their lives and frustrations, with nothing to do and less to look forward to. He almost wished he could get a job working on the mud channel. Ray was very proud of the section he was working on, even if it wasn't for more than a few hours a day. It was something to anticipate, to wake up for in the morning. It was an accomplishment you could see. Walter understood, and envied them. His satisfaction had been denied and even the peace of sleep had been replaced by nightmares.

It had turned into a hot muggy day. Tara had gone to change into her day clothes, out of the damp work clothes, and Walter had unbuttoned his shirt. They were talking quietly, watching the children play, when Ray suddenly noticed something was missing. He took a hold of Walter's shirt, and checked the collar. Then he checked for a chain. There was none. He looked at Walter, concerned. "Where's your pin, Walter?"

"I took it off." Walter tried to sound defiant, but ended up sounding scared instead.

"What happens if They notice?" Ray looked worried.

"They put one inside you." Walter couldn't keep the memories back. He said bitterly, "It hurts when they do it." He hadn't planned on telling Ray, but it felt better to have told somebody.

"When?" asked Ray, plainly shocked.

"About a month ago. Nobody even noticed I wasn't wearing it, nobody but them. I was asleep. I never told anyone."

"Why?" asked Ray, still stunned.

"I had to let out the anger. They stole all my dreams."

Ray looked down, pushing away his own memories. "They stole mine, too. And her's. Don't do this to yourself, Walter."

Annoyed, Walter defended himself. "I'm not asking you to do it. I have to live with the nightmares they gave me. If they want to come again I don't care."

"But what if someone else notices? What if you don't tell them what they did to you? It's not fair, Walter. If somebody wants to join your protest, fine, but don't deceive people. If you do that you're as bad as Them." Ray looked at him, disappointed.

Walter looked at his friend, shocked. "I never considered that." He buttoned up his shirt, standing up. "I don't think I want to talk about that night. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"I'll be here. Tara should be back soon. We have a game to play."

A little while later Walter returned, wearing his pin on the necklace. Ray nodded. But Walter was filled with a sense of loss he could not escape. He would find a way, but right now, he needed his friends more than revenge.

o0o

Outside the small room, the breeze was blowing. The lunch crowd was too far away to hear and only a lone musician, practicing in their home, left the echo of a melancholy song in the air. Dorothy was reading a story, one of his favorites. He'd been so sick this summer. The hospital had been needed this last illness. He was doing so much better now, but was weak. She had not been out with the others much, staying by his side.

She had heard the rumors, though, of dangerous things planned or executed. She needed to be with more than the quiet of his breathing as he listened to her story. It wasn't even Bajoran, but an old Earth tale of a King with a Round Table and a promise for the future. Wat, the boy walked slowly away from the old King on the eve of his last battle, his dream destroyed, but it was a moment of hope, and even dreams. Wat had a mission, to remember, to tell, so the dream would not be forgotten as its last vestiges destroyed each other in the battle that would begin at first light.

"Dreams must always go on," he said softly.

She looked into his eyes. He was tired, worn from all the illness and strain. He had lived this life before, but then he had been a boy and not a weakened man who would never again be well. Much better now since the hospital, he would decline again, she knew, perhaps for the last time. She would miss him. He had been her life since they'd met and there would be an empty place where he had been nothing would fill. But she would go on. She knew, for even now, as he faded, she grew stronger. Those who came to hear her stories would wait and be disappointed. She had something to give them all and would never forget that.

He took her hand. "The tree," he said, but faintly and she turned to him, holding his hand, watching as his eyes were looking away as if towards something in the great distance.

Feeling oddly peaceful, she began the poem, in the Bajoran he had written it, no need for the book she had recited it so many times. Careful of the words, keeping the lyrical rythems which made it so beautiful he closed his eyes, squeezing her hand more strongly than he had in days. She could feel his joy, and the wonder of the hope he would never give up for despair. She had her eyes closed, deep in its power, when she finished the last line.

"Most beautiful. It is yours now too. It is for all of those here who are forgetting how to hope and dream."

"I've recited it a number of times, " she said as his grip began to weaken and she moved closer. His gaze far away now, she knew. Leaning close, he spoke in a whisper. "I love you. But you are strong. You will remind them of the tree and boy with the dream." He smiled and suddenly his hand lost all of his grip and fell away.

She held it, life having gone from his body, but still waiting release. He wanted the ceremony. She would call the priest but not yet, not until she had said good buy.

Then the thought came unbidden. She was free now. As free as he had become when Death released him from his failing body. His spirit could roam now, and her's could give what she owed them. They were terrified. They dwelt in the ruts of fear they dug in their minds. But she understood that without dreams survival was nothing. She had been sent to tell the stories, to remind them of the tree, until her time came to roam with him.

She gave him a final kiss and stood, slipping on her shoes and moving toward the door and the priest and his release. Then she would read his private book again and remember before facing them, but by then there would be need of more than stories and talk and fears barely hidden. As their world crumbled into a nightmare, she would give them the vision of the tree to remind them that no matter what there was always a tomorrow.

o0o

Justin and Jaro had set out early, almost before dawn, laden with bags and a small cart. They were to collect native plants. A notice had been filed that they intended to collect further samples of the most promising of their previous trip, but they had not said when. They were already gone before anyone realized they had left.

It was very hot, and extremely muggy that day. About half the way along they met the young man who had come to Jaro's door, and given the collection bags to him. He passed them to several others, who would guarantee they were full of the requested plant samples. Blanchard had been adamant about that; the plant testing had become an essential part of their plan, and he wanted enough samples for a miniature farm. Justin and Jaro then continued on with their guide. He led them past the main trails to the location of their equipment. He then left, to keep watch.

He was one of the regular visitors to the area, one of the people who drifted away from the settlement during the day but always came home in time. They were tolerated, thought they were not supposed to be there. No one would be surprised to see him.

Justin and Jaro needed the entire day to finish the test. It took a long time to mix the chemicals, being careful to get just the right amount of water, and even longer to load them. At least it was outside and the fumes were blown away in a light breeze. But both of them were filthy, and smelled strongly of the chemicals. They'd have to wash off what they could before returning home.

The test itself was almost an anti-climax. The injector was put into place and started. In a matter of minutes it was done.

Then, all that remained was to wait. But the machine was moved first, so as not to give away the test site. Their helpers hid the machine, and if questioned neither of them could tell where it was.

It would raise a terrible alarm if it was found, but it couldn't give away either the test site or the cave. Finally, very late, without time to wash and have dinner, Justin and Jaro returned heavily laden with plant samples. An aide of Justin's brought their food. Justin was already planning the construction of his indoor hothouse in deep conversation with his friend.

There was nothing to show that they had changed everything to come that day.

o0o

Julian watched as Willman ran the tricorder over his leg. He no longer felt comfortable with Willman, even when he was just a patient. Willman's bedside manner, distinctly more friendly than they way he treated his staff, had not changed, but Julian could no longer see it as real.

"Well, Doctor, your leg is about as healed as it's going to get. Congratulations."

Julian didn't particularly feel like celebrating. He had only recently gotten a good look at the ruin that was left, badly scarred and mangled, and could not as yet consider that to be "healed". It was an unpleasant reminder of the kind of world in which he was going to have to live.

He watched, nervous, as Willman and one of the nurses lowered the support structure and his leg to the bed. It was unfastened, carefully, from his knee down. When they were done, his leg was lifted out of the brace, and one nurse placed pillows for it to rest on while Willman removed the support. His leg was gently placed on the pillows.

It was the first time in months that his leg was free of support. It was a moment he had both awaited and dreaded, and looking at the scarred and damaged leg, he almost wanted the support back so he couldn't see it anymore.

It was like a weight that was too heavy. But the worse part was the amount of pain moving it at all made shoot through his leg.

"Rest for now, I'll examine it tomorrow. We'll get you started on therapy tomorrow, as well." Willman noticed the grimace on his face. "I won't lie. There is a lot of nerve damage there. It's going to hurt. But you still have to learn to use it. Now, try to move your foot."

He tried. It sent a stab of pain up his leg and his foot barely moved. "That's all I can manage," he whispered after the worst of the pain subsided.

"It's a good start. I think you may need a brace for the foot, at least for now. I'll have one fitted today. You need to get up and move around to regain your strength."

Bashir wanted them all to go away. If they wouldn't give him anything for the pain he wanted to leave the throbbing leg still until it stopped hurting and just sleep. Everything below his knee was consumed in the waves of agony. He didn't have any desire to get out of bed, let alone walk, quite yet. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths trying to calm himself and make the hurting stop.

"I'll do an evaluation in a week or so, but I expect you'll be here for another two, three weeks," Willman said offhandedly. "Any questions?"

Bashir just wanted to be left alone. He shook his head. The nurses left. Willman didn't. But he didn't recognize him, especially the sadness. "There really isn't anything I can do for the pain right now. It will get better, and I'm sure the brace will help. But I'll have them get you something to help you sleep. That will help right now at least."

Willman almost sounded sympathetic. Bashir was confused. He wished the real Willman would raise his hand.

Later that day, Lonnie and a couple of techs showed up to fit the brace. She made sure he was sedated first, and he spent the rest of the day sleeping, dreaming worried dreams of the future.

o0o

Willman had come to Sisko that morning, not bothering with an excuse. He had suggested another walk, and they had barely left the building before Willman had told him. He knew where the machine was hidden, and they must get to it first. He'd already told Dax and O'Brien, and they were taking an early lunch.

Sisko was not happy that Willman had sent Dax and O'Brien to check on the equipment without any discussion. But he did understand the need for immediate action. If it meant finding it before it could be used it would count in their favor. He knew the Vorta would be aware of the lunch trip. But he'd made veiled references to their problem three times now. Each time it had been a little more pointed. But none of the meetings had any real purpose. He knew what authority he had in a situation like this. It always ended with the ultimate act of sacrifice, using "official channels" and turning someone over to the Dominion.

Sisko had not ask Willman for something to help him sleep, mostly because he did not want to discuss the reasons. But now, if the machine was being used, there would be no need. Willman had asked if he was getting enough sleep. He knew he would keep asking, but if that days events played out as they might, his life would forever be changed. He would never look himself in the eyes and see the man he desperately needed to be. If someone went to Them, nothing Willman possessed would make up for the loss.

But he understood that in the end it might come to that. He wanted them to find nothing, but that would simply delay the inevitable. Whatever its condition, what had been done or not done, they would have to find and destroy the machine. The Vorta had never said it but he understood that was their only chance. As long as they found no one with it, he would have a little time to think. Blanchard and Tarlan couldn't do this alone, and still use the cover of their plants, and Sisko was counting on his helpers to be a little more practical than Blanchard and his obsessions. But no matter what unfolded that day, the Benjamin Sisko that woke would have to take several more steps ahead, and he didn't know if he would be able to even see that line in the sand anymore.

o0o

Bashir lay flat on the bed, his eyes closed, trying to ignore the pain. Therapy had ended a little while before, and just wanted to try to sleep. The muggy late summer heat had made the room too hot to draw the curtains, even if the distractions were a problem. At least there were few; almost half the patients in the room had been released. The rest would be soon. They came back, though, to visit. Even Duncan still came regularly. And with them they brought the outside into what had been a refuge from it.

There was something different about Duncan. He'd gotten a promotion. He didn't spend as much time on the visit. But he was wearing a mask now, just like the rest. But it hid something which scared him. Only those he counted as friends would see, but Julian recognized some fear which never disappeared, something very personal. Maybe, when he wasn't in so much pain, when he could spare a little energy to reach out, he might see if he could play counselor.

Lonnie still came regularly, though she was often too busy to stay long. She had promised a longer visit today, and he half-hoped she would have to go. They had made him stand that afternoon. He had someone holding both arms, but he had put weight on the leg. He had even taken a step. The therapist had been impressed, and called it a great achievement. He had found the level of pain it produced more impressive.

Willman had suspended the lessons, for now, so he could concentrate on his therapy. His orientation into medicine as it existed here was done. When he was strong enough and could get around, he would be working directly with Lonnie so both could get a more practical feel for what they had learned. He looked forward to that, despite his worries about what lay outside, and the pain that he knew would never disappear.

But he was worried about Lonnie. She had changed recently, since the rumors about the terraforming experiment had spread everywhere. She had gotten very cautious. Their personal conversations had lost all the openness. He could tell she was scared, the same fear that was in everyone they met, and understood. He knew better than most just how viscous the Dominion could be. He had written her a letter, "talking" about the fear. He would manage to slip it to her someway.

The ache in his leg had dimmed by the time she arrived. He missed the smile, but doubted she was in much of a mood for it anyway. She greeted the others, and sat on the empty bed next to him. "I heard about your step. Dr. Willman was most impressed."

"I could have done without it." He said, hesitantly, unsure of her mood.

"You have to start sometime." She looked at him, a hint of a smile. "It's so stuffy in here, how would you like to go outside?"

It was the worst idea he could think of, making him leave his bed and move his leg, but he understood that the best conversation he was going to get was reminders of things he didn't want to remember. "I don't think I'm up to walking yet," he said.

"You won't have to." She left and returned in a few minutes, pushing a wheelchair. She helped him into it, as gently as she could.

It was much less stuffy outside, and a little cooler. She pushed the chair to a deserted bench partly shaded by a building. She sat on the bench, not looking at him.

"Have you heard?" she asked, almost whispering. "I guess not." She looked numb and scared. He started to feel nervous.

"They found terraforming equipment, used recently. I guess they destroyed it, but . . . . " She looked at him, and bit her lip nervously. "They know. They have to."

He couldn't think of anything to say. It was like a bad dream come true. He remembered the morning he had come to in the barracks at the internment camp, and felt almost the same now. "I wrote something," he said slowly, quietly. "Can you . . . . "

She sat next to him, taking the pad from him and hiding it. "I'll read it first. But I don't think we can do this anymore. It might be too risky."

He nodded. He was looking around the small square, where here and there people sat in silence. The rumor had not taken long to spread. "I wouldn't want to be whoever did this," he finally said.

Lonnie squeezed his hand. He didn't even realize she had been holding it. He was far away, half lost in a nightmare. Hesitant, she said carefully, "Maybe, maybe they'll leave everybody else alone."

He squeezed her hand. "Maybe we'll be lucky."

They sat in the sun until she had to go back. He lay in his bed the rest of the day, remembering what it was like to live with the Jem'Hadar. She did the afternoon review of patients. He didn't think either of them would sleep that night, but wouldn't be alone..

o0o

Catherine lay on their bed, staring up at the dullness of the walls. She had rushed dinner, the general gloom of the crowd too hard to deal with. She lay her hand on her belly, feeling the rise where her child was growing and pushed back the tears. It was dark already and he needed to go for a walk to clear his head but could not. Sitting in the other little room of their hovel was the best they could do. She had been to the hospital that day for her checkup. The doctor had said she was well and the baby was strong. Then someone had come in the door, and told everyone the news. The nurse had stepped out of the room, the shock written in her face when she returned. Catherine had just stared, holding her hands over the child as if somehow she could shield her from the shock. Distantly, she'd gone back to work, but Catherine hadn't listed much to anything after that.

He was working, junior staff at Supply. She hadn't liked that he taken the job but was going out of his mind with nothing to do. He'd met her at dinner with the same dully stunned look everyone else wore. They hadn't said a word at dinner. She had gone back home first, with him following a little while later. Then it got dark. The curfew had been there from the start, but it wasn't always observed. But they all knew that had changed already.

She told him the baby was good. She was fine. He'd stood in the room, staring out the small window at nothing. "So far," he'd mumbled.

The tears fell. Leaving the hospital she'd stared up at the sky, wondering when they'd come. She hadn't wanted children before, not with his job. Dad had been a starfleet officer with ambition. Mom had her own life. Catherine had fit in when they had time. His job was a specialty, and he traveled frequently. She didn't want to raise a child herself who barely knew who dad was.

Then they'd been trapped in this place where there was nothing to stop babies. People took comfort where they could. She hadn't wanted a baby here, but Tessie was inside her. Neither of them dared ask how you could keep safe a child in this place. Because they knew you couldn't.

He knocked softly. Opening the door he said quietly, "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just scared."

He was still standing by the door. She sat up, holding out her arms. "Everybody is scared. I didn't want a baby but she's here and now I love her." More tears ran down her cheeks but she wasn't hysterical anymore.

He took her hands and let her pull him close. She couldn't see his face but he was taking in such a quiet voice, barely above a whisper. Even now the shock was still so strong. "I remember when the word came. We had a full room all busy. Paper shuffles and mumbles and pens going. Then just silence. Total silence. We hear stuff I don't repeat. Thanks to what they did things are going to get very bad very soon."

He'd pulled back. She looked at him, realizing he didn't mean the ones in the sky. "How bad?"

"Just warning you. People might make us the enemy. But somebody has to try and stop Them."

He went back to staring out the window. "Aren't They enough of an enemy?" she asked.

He didn't answer. She pulled up the covers as he shut off the light. Eventually he came to bed but she was still awake. "It would be so simple if They were," he said. But he put his arms around her and she snuggled close and for at least a little while it didn't matter.

o0o

The meeting was secret, and its grim nature was written on the faces of all of them. There were no positions or titles here, just four people desperate to prevent disaster.

"You're certain the equipment had been used," asked Sisko, resigned, hoping to hear a ray of hope.

"Absolutely no doubt. Not only was it dirty, but the chemical sludge inside was almost gone." O'Brien sounded depressed.

"It shouldn't be hard to find the test site," offered Dax, "unless it's a very small patch. But it might look a little suspicious if we go searching." Even Dax's usually distant voice sounded worried.

The four of them sat for a minute, contemplating what this meant for the future. Finally, Willman broke the silence. Looking at Sisko, he said softly, "It's time to be the bad guys."

O'Brien looked around the room. "You think that will make a difference?"

Sisko sighed. "Even if it doesn't, we have to try. And, I suspect it just might. It won't help Blanchard or his people, but it might help the rest of us."

"The rumor mill's been pretty busy. They all know the details. It's got people on edge, and they're scared." Miles thought for a minute. "Blanchard has been spending an awful lot of time with his Bajoran friend. They've been taking a lot of walks out of town too. The other day they barely made it back before dark. They were real dirty. I wonder . . . . "

Willman was getting impatient. "What we *need* to do is find out where they have the bulk of it hidden. Destroy it and there won't be anything left to find. And come down as hard as you can on those involved. I don't think half measures are going to do much this late. That is, if you want my opinion."

"Go on," said Sisko.

"I think I know the general location. It has to be in the caves that honeycomb the mountains behind us. They are the only place a scan wouldn't have found the equipment. The only trouble is there are so many caves in those mountains that you would almost have to know which one you were looking for."

"Do they connect at all?" asked Miles.

"Yes and no. A few do, but most of them have a series of small caves which dead-end in a single large round cave. If I were going to hide something, I'd take that approach, where nobody is going to accidentally find the stuff. The problem is if we go snooping around there, it's bound to raise suspicion with all the wrong people."

"So, what do you suggest?" ask Sisko, wearily.

"Make the area above us off limits without permission. If they ask, we give it to them. And follow them. I know this will inconvenience a lot of people. But this isn't a popularity contest. You're not going to like what they call you. But all of that is besides the point. Rumors don't matter. People's grumbles don't really matter. But They aren't going to tolerate wholesale violations of their rules like this. The aim of our plan has to be finding the equipment and destroying it, and making a few examples for people to remember. I really don't think anything less is worth the bother."

"What if we bring in Blanchard and ask him about it?" asked Sisko.

"I don't know if that is a good idea right now. I think he has an experiment going. If I know Justin he won't hear anything anybody says unless it fits his plans."

Sisko was frustrated. They stood on the edge of disaster and Blanchard would never see it. "Would he admit to this experiment if we asked, given the evidence?"

"Perhaps. If he's finished. He'd never take a chance on you closing it down if he wasn't. He'd just move everything and we'd never find it. And he'd probably hurry it along too. I don't think confronting him is the best thing right now."

"What about Tarlan? He has to be involved. If they're still busy I'll bet he's the one doing the leg work. We should keep an eye on him," Miles offered.

"That might be more productive," agreed Willman. "I still wouldn't confront him, though. Just keep track of him."

"What if they are done?" asked Dax. "I doubt they'll go anywhere near the site in that case."

"Then Ben can use some of that discretionary authority he's got." Sisko began to look uncomfortable. Willman looked at him. "Ben, you have to do something to end this. Whatever it takes. If it takes making a sacrifice of Blanchard you will have to do that."

"Only as a last resort," said Sisko. "And with proof." He looked grimly at the others. "But if that is what it comes down to, I'm willing to do it."

There were other things to say, but the secret meeting could not be allowed to look suspicious. They all had official work to finish. They left with a nod. Jadzia stayed behind.

When they were gone, she studied his face. "Are you willing to turn him over?"

Sisko must have had a look in his eyes she hadn't seen before. "Old Man, I sat up the last three nights trying to find some other way. It's either a test or a trap. If it's a trap, then we already set it off and it won't change much for Blanchard or any of his friends. But if it *is* a test, I just might be able to save the rest of us. I have to try." There was pain in his eyes, but determination as well. He had made up his mind, and should, by some miracle, Justin Blanchard live a long safe life, Benjamin Sisko had already paid the price.

End, Legacy, Year 1, Part 3, Chapter 14


	16. Part 4Interesting Times Chapter 15

LEGACY

An Alternate History of the Dominion War

Year 1

Part 4- Interesting Times

Chapter 15

In perhaps an hour, the sun would rise. The earliest glow of dawn was lighting the small window of his inner office. Benjamin Sisko had not gone to bed that night. He'd written the old Chinese curse on a scrap of paper and laid it with the carefully printed papers he'd finished a little while earlier.

"May you live in interesting times," it said. He had found a small piece of hard paper to attach it to, and would leave it on his desk as a reminder.

But he couldn't stop staring at the two official decrees to be announced in a few hours. Grimly, he picked them up again to make sure there were no mistakes.

He read the first slowly. It would change their way of life. The curfew had been an informal rule before. People generally respected it by staying inside at night, but now and then there were emergencies. Even then, a reasonable explanation was all that he needed to excuse them.

But tomorrow, all that would change. Written permission would be required to break curfew, and there were few acceptable reasons. Those in violation could be restricted to their quarters for as long as Sisko chose. In the summer heat this would be miserable, and they would be forced to eat the cakes in original form. They would be excluded from the community and the community soup pot.

Sisko hoped it would be enough.

Willman wanted more, but it was as far as Sisko was willing to go for now. It was tough enough to insure that people knew he was serious. From what he'd seen that evening, after the rumor had spread about the machine, there wasn't likely to be any trouble. There had been very little conversation of any kind. They were stunned and scared, the used machines a reminder of those who watched from above. Everybody was waiting for the Jem'Hadar to come.

He finished reviewing the first, and started on the second. That decree would change much more of the daily routine. While it was technically against the rules, people still took walks into the rolling hills above the settlement for solitude, or variety, or just to have something to do. This would now be strictly forbidden, and heavily enforced. The only way the area could be entered was with special permission from his office. He knew how unpopular it would be, even with the fear. He intended to enforce it, however, with a heavy hand. Those caught sneaking into the hills would be confined to quarters for a month on the first offense, and be denied community soup privileges for three. He was determined to curtail any more experiments. He only hoped it would make a difference.

o0o

Willman had not slept well. He'd been waiting for something like this. He knew, eventually, the Jem'Hadar would come and life would resemble that which he'd lived years ago at the mercy of the Cardassians. The memories had come back that night in a dream, one so vivid it was hard to tear himself away.

But something else bothered him about the way things had gone. It had been a suspicion before, but now it was a certainty. He hadn't wanted to say anything to the others, but Ben had to know.

He dressed and walked slowly in the emerging dawn. Knocking on Ben's quarters there was no answer, but the office door was opened at his knock.

Ben had been going somewhere. Instead he walked back to the little office he used for private talks. Neither said a word while Willy sat and took the papers from Ben to read.

Ben picked up a piece of stiff paper and some glue, sticking a piece of paper on the cardboard. He folded it and sat it on his personal desk, turning it towards Willy.

"Appropriate," said Willy.

"Maybe I should post it on the door."

"I think these will do fine." Willy sat them down on the table, staring at the sign. "They'll get the point without your sign."

"I certainly hope so."

Willy took a deep breath, looking Ben in the eyes. "They expected this. More than that, they hoped it would happen."

"I know. We've had enough experience with them before to know that this sort of thing wouldn't be tolerated. They just want to weed out the troublemakers. We haven't tried to resist, or they'd have done a lot more."

Willy said grimly, "No, that isn't why."

Sisko was reaching for the baseball but stopped. "Explain."

Willy shook his head. "It's been so obvious, if I'd ever put it together before. You see, Walter was desperate for sponsors. He wasn't particularly careful who they were, and I'm quite certain that he didn't ask any questions. And when we needed something that was hard to get, it was always so *easy* to get it from our friendly sponsors. If you hadn't shown up, I'll bet I'd have even gotten that medical replicator I needed."

"You think the Dominion set this place up?"

"I'm sure now. Think about it. You know the way they behave. The Cardies were bad, but they're worse. We'd all be dead now, or shipped off to some labor camp where nobody left alive if they didn't have a real good reason to look the other way."

Sisko picked up the baseball. "I've wondered why we've gotten such special treatment. But everything about this project of Vance's is illegal by their laws."

"As it was. I know that Walter once said his *sponsors* had ask about simplifying it. I guess they suggested that it would be even more useful if it didn't need all the machines. That's what they did here. They made Justin create a version that didn't need them because he didn't have them. All the rest of us were just incidental."

Sisko rolled the baseball around in his hand. "So, what happens now?"

"They got what they wanted. I'll bet they sample the test site themselves, just to make sure it works. Of course, now that Walter had bailed and Justin might kill himself if he tries it again, they might not wait."

"How?" asked Sisko, curious.

"His chemicals are very toxic. If he and his friend try it somewhere there isn't enough ventilation we'll be able to tell."

"There is Tarlan." Sisko sat the ball on his desk next to the little sign.

"And he has a whole family on Bajor. I'll bet that they're all safe and sound right now, and when it comes the time to say yes he'll understand that if he wants them to stay that way . . . . "

Ben nodded. "If Jake was on Bajor, that would be a hard question to say no to."

"But you'd want to. So will he, after they get through with the others."

"Like us," said Ben.

"Probably."

"What do you suggest?"

"Hope they like the project. I'll bet once it's right we'll have plenty to do here. But it won't be the same."

Willy thought about how the Cardies had forced his men to work, and beaten them when they didn't. There were a lot of people here, enough to run a chemical plant. If they died off from the fumes they had plenty of replacements.

Ben picked up the sign and crumpled it. "When do we cross the line? I did this to stand between my people and Them. Now, you're saying that I may have to condemn my people to save them."

Willy didn't answer. Ben talked to the Vorta and could make a better guess. The Cardies had let certain privileged prisoners run things for them. Once the line was crossed, those who stepped over it owed everything to the masters.

"I hope not," he said.

Ben shuffled the decrees around, setting them face up. "Or have I already?" he asked. Then he pushed the papers away. "We didn't have this conversation."

"No, I am glad you're headache is better." Willy watched as Ben stared at the decrees that he'd written, slipping a little more with each word to a point of no return.

He let himself out. The trip back to the hospital was very quiet. No one had ventured outside, despite the rising sun.

Moving up the hill, he took a deep breath and Willy disappeared again. Sisko had not stepped across the scratch in the sand, but deep inside, he knew he already had.

o0o

The announcements were posted that morning, copies distributed to each area. People disappeared with their copy to read, vanishing silently to the shelter of home. But there was no real safety anymore. The new rules were not discussed. Those who had nothing to do drifted out for lunch, then disappeared inside again as if they might hide. Tomorrow it would sink in when they'd wanted to step out to get a little fresh air, but could not, or when they stood at their doors in the morning wondering if it was all right to leave.

The deck was deserted. Just past, one could find ways to the hills, and now it just reminded them of the fear. Instead, they sat outside their homes, doing nothing.

Children and family were kept near. What if the Jem'Hadar came and they were separated?

The same subdued atmosphere greeted Sisko at the meeting of Department heads he had called that afternoon. Nobody offered any comments. In a quiet voice, which betrayed only a little of the fear inside, he explained their part in enforcing the new rules. He was asking more of them than ever before, and this time there was no way out.

"Anyone found in violation of normal working rules will automatically go on restrictions. This is no longer at your discretion. Those in violation will be placed on lock restriction. How long is up to you, but if there is a repeat of the violation you also have to answer for it."

They looked pale, and none would look at him. But the rules would be obeyed. There was no longer any option. No matter what was thought of him, he would try to protect his people against the unknown terrors that threatened.

But what if Willy was right? What if this was only the beginning? If the teraforming project had saved them from something far worse, would his rules make that much of a difference? Or was he, like Tarlan, only buying himself a place he did not want to have?

Still, he had to pretend. Blanchard sat like the others, his face impassive and scared. Blanchard knew how to pretend, too. He wished he could tell them about the Vorta's warnings. He wondered if Blanchard understood this was all his doing, but saw no evidence of regret. When the Jem'Hadar came, would he finally understand? Sisko did not want to catch Blanchard in the act and be forced into the ugly decision that would demand, but there must be no more experiments.

Unless Willy was right, he thought. Would it be better to let Blanchard and his Bajoran friend keep trying, but carefully never catch them? Would that buy them more time?

What if Blanchard figured it out? Would he destroy what he and Tarlan had done? Would that be better or worse?

Studying Blanchard's detached expression, so unlike the miserable looks of the others, he doubted it would matter. The project mattered so much now that Blanchard no longer cared.

"Any questions?" he asked. There were none.

Now he could make his third announcement, one that was to be a pleasant relief but now would require yet more accommodations. Anticipating the cold weather to come, he had authorized the empty warehouse where the terraforming equipment had been stored to be turned into a kitchen/serving area. It would be open late for those with night duty, but now they would need special passes. It was not the way he had wanted to announce the news, but Blanchard had ruined that.

As they filed out of the room, lost in their own thoughts, he noticed Dax was watching him. She was sitting wrong, and the look of bitter resignation was all Curzon. He might have asked for her to stay, knowing that Curzon would understand, but wasn't in the mood for conversation.

When he'd had time to think, he'd find her for dinner. Perhaps she could join him tonight. After he'd spent the day looking at the reports that hid nothing, he'd welcome Curzon's cynicism.

But he was alone now. The days edicts, and the terrible knowledge Willman had passed on to him would set him apart. No matter what he did it would be very bad. But if he could keep back the darkness just a little and save some of them from grief, he'd have to pay the price of being alone.

o0o

Darla said nothing as Megan studied her reflection in the mirror, the deep blue of the dress in contrast to all the dulled colors in the room. Of course it fit perfectly. It wasn't the first gift she'd found waiting for her. The others outfits had been more basic, but he was planning a small party for Chele's birthday and the parents of her friends would be there. It would be Megan's official introduction. She was sure that word of the dress would go beyond their small room, and reach the office. It would be most interesting what came of that. Since she had been sharing some of her meals with the blacksuit, Sir had become most careful about her.

She knew what the rest thought was going on. She didn't care. Sir had suddenly not needed her to fill out any of her "special forms" anymore. She suspected she was doing it herself and taking the chance, though if there were none at all it would be smarter. Megan no longer did any first fills, and progressed to mostly third fills. She was quite sure they were all legitimate papers. Even on her late days she didn't see anything even slightly questionable.

She was progressing quite rapidly and was sure that Sir was hoping to transfer her somewhere else asap.

She smoothed her hand down the soft, draped fabric, and allowed herself to appreciate what it did for her figure. He wanted to show her off as much as Sir wanted to get rid of her. She just wanted to find a way out of the trap she knew she would be caught in when they had finally had enough.

The dresses were just another image, no different than the uniform she'd hung up carefully before trying on the striking blue dress. She did enjoy their meals. He was intelligent and there were interesting conversations. But despite what her housemates were assuming, he had never as much as suggestively laid a hand on her. She was perfectly happy for them to continue in their assumption as long as it kept Sir from implicating her, not to mention the steady progress she was making towards losing the bracelet and getting out of Supply. The CA people knew she was not his mistress. But his continued company suggested he had greater aspirations. And the way the children ran to hug her now, and on the days off would spend all day playing with her when they could, were a gift for which she would be forever grateful. It reminded her how to feel when she didn't dare most of the time. With him, it was an arrangement. She wasn't sure exactly what he was to get out of it, but suspected he understood more than some, and his goal was also to survive. It was an experiment, after all. In the end, not everyone was going to pass.

But for both, the children were a complication. They had hostages because both cared very much about them now. Chele was going to be seven. She loved peacock blue, and it was no accident the dress was that color. As she careful took it off and hung it in her closet, putting on her favorite comfort clothes, Darla finally spoke.

"Be careful," she said softly. "I know you think he can but I'm not sure even a blacksuit can save you if it hits."

Megan was finished with the dress. She already knew that. But she was doing what she could. "It can't hurt."

"You didn't hear. They hit the warehouse again. Took the supervisors this time, came in the middle of the day and hauled them to the ship, then it went away. All the supervisors."

Megan suppressed a shiver, thinking of Sir and the way she'd been nervous all day. Supervisors were by definition greysuits, and did not wear bracelets. The day before more missing stock was discovered. She had been in the office all day, month end cycle so close they worked through lunch and hadn't heard until evening. Maybe Sir hadn't wanted them to know. If they were too nervous there might be mistakes and even if there was nothing wrong, it would be *assumed*. "It's better than doing nothing," she said.

"I suppose." Megan had picked up the papers inside the box, drawings from the children. She was smiling at them. "He's not married. If your not sleeping with him then I guess he might have other reasons. But if Supply is hit," she said, not finishing the sentence.

"I'm up for a promotion and a transfer out. I have reason to believe Sir won't get in the way. Best I can do." She careful put the drawings down, turning to face Darla. "You hear stuff. How bad?"

"I know all the exec's got talked to. They have to blame somebody. Maybe they don't have anything to do with it, but they are supposed to keep things in order. When things come down, they'll be blamed for not doing their job." She held up her hand and looked at the bracelet. "Maybe having a bracelet will be a better option after all."

Megan picked up the drawings. "He's scared," she said. She had never spoken of it to anyone, but could trust Darla. He didn't trust the nanny. He was making like he was interested in her so he would look like he was behaving. The nanny would be telling them he was keeping hands off. They didn't approve of single parents in their top layers, so she was his protection too. The nanny had made sure she noticed how she watched.

When she got out of supply and when the bracelet was gone she knew she'd have to make a commitment. But she would sleep with him and play wife and help both of them survive. And even more, make sure Chele and Tanni did too.

She couldn't bring herself to say she loved them, because she couldn't love anyone and play the game. But they made her happy when they laughed and played and acted like children. She needed to remember how to feel that way. Looking at the bright blue picture Chele had drawn, she said quietly, "They were with me when we were captured. I thought they were dead. I can't lose them again."

Darla just stared at the wall, past the mirror and the dress. "I just take life one day at a time lately. Maybe you should try it."

Her roommate slipped on her shoes, ready for dinner, then looked back at her. "Coming?" she asked.

Megan laid the drawings down, thinking of the smiles and how devastating it would be to lose them. But it was time for dinner. She had to keep playing the game. Slipping on her shoes she took one last look at the pictures and wondered if it the game would be as hard when she was away from this place or if she would be so used to it then she wouldn't notice it wasn't real anymore.

o0o

Julian surveyed the Recovery building, noting all the empty beds. Willman had said he would be released in a few days. He fingered the crutches he now depended on, wondering how long that would be tolerated. Willman had mentioned he was continuing with his therapy, and would eventually re-learn to walk. He had hated the crutches at first, but depended on them now. The pain was so bad, even without full weight on the leg. He could not imagine how much worse it would be when he had to walk. The crutches were a refuge, like this room, and he knew enough of the world he would be forced into to understand that all the illusions were gone.

He would be still be an outpatient, but would have to walk to meals and the hospital. The daily walk Willman insisted on now was bad enough. He'd seen the world outside and was in no hurry to take his place in it.

And he'd told himself, near the end of his daily walk when the pain was almost too much, that when he could do a better job of it there would be the hills. It was almost pretty there. The native plants in their sparse glory grew uncut. He could go there himself if he kept trying.

But not now. Lonnie had taken him there once, just into the area behind the hospital. It wasn't far, but it was different, and uncontrolled. And it had been private. Now, it would be impossible to get away, and there was nothing special to look forward to. All that awaited him was more pain.

He hurt from the morning's therapy, and after eating alone had tried to sleep. But the pain was too much. He didn't want to go for his walk. She would be here soon, and the pain had finally dimmed enough to rest. But he would walk, as he was told to do. He knew better than to refuse. If he did he would have to deal with Willman, and would rather put up with agony than that. Agony would end, and offending Willman would insure that he was never forgotten. Drifting off into an uneasy sleep, he escaped for a little while.

o0o

She watched him sleeping, regretting that she had to wake him. But it was the only time Lonnie could come, and she liked sharing an early dinner with him. She didn't see him that often anymore, dinner being one of few regular times. After his release there might be more time, but it wasn't likely. And then, he'd have plenty of chances to walk on his own.

She liked their walks. She'd miss them. He'd be busy in the mornings with therapy, and she had to work in the afternoons. Then, in the evenings, came the curfew. Willman would not allow any exceptions. And on duty, personal matters were best forgotten.

She almost touched his shoulder to wake him, but remembered when he had jerked away, and stared at her seeing someone else, someone from his nightmares. Instead she bent over and whispered, loudly, in his ear. "Come on, Julian, it's time to wake up." He did his best to turn over and move away. "Wake up. It's walk time. We'll make it short."

He was starting to stir, and opened his eyes, not yet focused. He looked around, everything still blurry, and mumbled, "Make that real short, please."

He was awake now. And she could tell he no longer needed reminding that things were different. The resignation in his eyes was enough.

"We'll get an early dinner, and then I've got something to show you." He was so tired. She wished she could let him sleep, but he'd like his surprise.

She moved the blanket off the pile of pillows his leg was resting on, and frowned. "Julian, you have to take the brace off when your resting."

"After the walk." He didn't look at her when he said it. "It hurts more then. If I have to go . . . . " His voice trailed off.

He didn't complain often. She gave in. "I'll personally take it off then." She helped him sit up, and got his shoes. He put them on himself, and pulled himself up with a crutch.

Miserable, he followed her slowly out the door.

o0o

Dinner had been quick, sitting in the square, Julian concentrating on the food and Lonnie on the people. She got their dinners, getting him seated at a table first. It had been quick for once.

He ate without looking up. The stew was pretty good, and he appeared to like it. To distract herself from the silence, she watched the small group of early diners.

It was different now. People were quiet. They didn't say much in such an open place. She studied him as he ate, occasionally glancing up at her as he was almost finished, not looking at the others.

She needed to talk. She had almost resumed the letters, but it was too chancy. She wanted him to hurry so they could see his surprise, and perhaps have some privacy as well.

She finished just before he did, gathering the dishes and returning them. She let him pull himself up and handed him the other crutch. Either he was in too much pain or lost in his own thoughts, but he hardly noticed any of it. Slowly, taking his time, he followed her back towards the hospital.

She stopped before turning towards the collection of dwellings on the little rise. "I thought this was going to be quick." He sounded disappointed.

"It's not over yet. Remember the surprise?"

"As long as it's not far." She could tell all he wanted to do was go back to sleep and try to banish the pain. But she thought he would like his surprise. They turned past one clutch of buildings to another, and stopped before a door. She unlocked it.

"Open it," she said, watching his puzzled expression. "It's yours."

He turned the knob and used the tip of one crutch to push the door open. Once inside, he stood in the box shaped room and looked around. "My . . . quarters, I guess," he said, surprised. He hobbled to the other, smaller room and noticed the pile of things in the corner. "Is that my stuff?" he asked, looking it over closely, moving towards it. He began moving it around with the crutches, balancing on his good leg. He finally discovered a small bag with a Starfleet logo on its side. It was dirty, but not damaged. Pointing the crutch, he asked, "Could you?" in an excited voice.

He maneuvered himself to the bed and sat down. He grabbed the case from Lonnie, who stood and watched, feeling like an intruder. Opening it, he didn't even see her.

Pulling things out of the case, he set them aside. There were a few books, then a small box or two - and a stuffed bear. He smiled for the first time in ages. "Meet Kukalaka," he said, still smiling, almost happy.

"Ugh, hello," she said, uncertain as to what to say to the well worn teddy bear. But she remembered her charm, how she had repaired it so carefully, and held it when she needed to remember home. She smiled. "Feeling a little better?" she asked.

He put down the bear. "Maybe." He was more serious now. "It feels so . . . quiet."

"You need a place of your own. You'll be glad you have this in a little while." Lonnie was equally serious. "You might even be able to have a private talk when you need one." She looked at him, trying to say with her eyes what she couldn't make herself put into words.

He met her eyes. "We could have one now. If you want to."

She sat next to him on the bed, looking towards the pile of things that was all he had of his life, thinking of how much more she had. "What do you dream about?" she asked quietly.

He turned his head away. "I don't think you want to know." Looking upwards, he took a deep breath. "Mostly Them. Especially since . . . . "

She took his hand. She asked carefully, "What do they *do* in your dreams?"

"I've told you. But it's not so sharp now, there's other things. They all mix together." He sighed. "Why do you want to know? Do I talk in my sleep or something?"

She ignored the questions. "How do you make yourself, remember . . . what you dreamed?"

He looked at her, suddenly understanding. "How bad are they?" he asked.

"I don't know. I don't remember them. But every time I hear a sound I wake up afraid They are here, and I can barely move I'm so scared." She looked at him, pleading. "How do you live with them?"

He put his arms around her. She buried her face in his shoulder and let his touch comfort her. Hugging each other, the few minutes they had before the world intruded felt like a long time. Finally, reluctantly, he answered, "You just do."

o0o

Lonnie had removed the brace when they returned to his hospital bed, and his leg throbbed much more than normal. She'd also moved the brace to the storage locker so he couldn't hobble over and put it back on. The room was so quiet, almost empty now. Maybe he'd be used to the stillness when he was in his quarters.

He couldn't sleep. Lonnie's hesitant questions kept him awake. She hadn't any idea how bad it might get. How many others were like her, haunted by fears they didn't dare voice.

In an odd way, it was comforting. He wasn't alone anymore. He still didn't share much with them, but they might have understood now. He usually slept now, despite the dreams. Eventually they'd learn that life went on even if you were afraid and your heart started to pound and your mind swirl in ultra sharp alarm at an innocent sound. Some day they would learn that fear cannot be allowed to rule.

Morning eventually came, after a short exhausted sleep. His day was not improved by Willman's early visit. Stern and officious, he knew Willman no longer considered him a patient with needs to be met. It was no surprise at all that he would be released that day.

o0o

Lonnie stood by the bed, a small bag dangling over her shoulder. "Is that everything?" she asked.

He had a few personal things gathered in the long months confined to the hospital. She'd loaded them all in the bag and was holding the crutches. "All of it," he said.

She checked the brace again. "That looks like it's too tight."

"It's fine," he said, wearily. He wanted to get this over. She had been assigned the task of getting him to his new home, and since she worked all afternoon it was near dinnertime and the beginning of the curfew. She was waiting for him to finish with his shoes so they could go.

He'd pulled on the last one, for his good leg. She handed him one crutch and he pulled himself to his feet.

He wasn't the last patient left. There were three others. He moved to the side of the room they occupied.

"Don't be a stranger," said Tike. Then he added, with a hint of a smile, "Doctor."

It was so odd to be called that. Here, Willman was the doctor. Everywhere else, it had been an honor. He wasn't sure he'd call it that in this place.

"I'll be back. You'll be out of here soon, anyway."

Tike nodded. It occurred to Bashir that out there they'd use the name he didn't like and only a few would call him by his nickname. "I know. I'm not in much of a hurry about it."

The other two were asleep, their injuries taking a long time to heal. Willman would probably move them back to the hospital when they were left alone, since neither could get out of bed.

Lonnie moved closer. "We have to go," she said. There was an edge in her voice he hadn't heard before. "We don't have a lot of time," she added, and he understood. It was getting late and she was worried about the curfew.

She opened the door, moving out slowly so he could follow. It was so odd to be leaving for the last time. Tomorrow, Willman would find something for him to do. He didn't know if it would be better to be busy or not, if he had to answer to Willman.

The walk to his new quarters wasn't far, but it felt like an enormous distance. For months, he'd been only on the edge of this place. Now, he'd have to live in the restrictive society that Willman had built to save them.

He understood Willman's reasons, though Willman probably didn't realize it, and he wasn't going to tell him. But this was the Dominion. They'd kidnaped Bashir and locked him in a cage. For complaining, they'd put him in isolation for what felt like a lifetime.

Willman's reign of terror wasn't going to save anyone. It just made life a little harder for everyone else. Or, perhaps, he thought, it was easier to fear Willman, who was there, then someone who never showed themselves but could destroy everything.

Lonnie gave him his key, and watched as he unlocked his door. She waited outside while he pushed open the door, and hopped inside. "May I come in?" she asked.

"Of course."

She stepped inside slowly. "I remember when I saw mine for the first time. It was very small."

"Not small," he said, pulling himself to the bed. "Not large either. Just personal."

"Well, it is yours." Away from Willman, she sounded bitter.

He watched as she put his things near the bed, on a small table which she pushed where he could reach it.

"How soon do we have to be in?" he asked.

"We have time for dinner. I arranged to have it brought today. We didn't have time to walk there."

He looked at his leg, the brace keeping his ankle from twisting. Eventually the muscles might get strong enough to hold it but no one could say. The serving area wasn't that far for most, but for him it was an ordeal. "What about tomorrow?"

She shrugged. "We'll see how it goes. For now, you have to get there once a day. Doctor's orders. You pick the meal."

He pulled his leg onto the bed, wincing as he rolled to the side to put several pillows underneath. She didn't help.

"Not breakfast," he said, suddenly exhausted.

"Maybe lunch." She loosened the brace, then started pulling it off. He didn't argue. It wouldn't matter if he did. He could navigate without it around the small quarters with his crutches. But the throbbing that came every time she took it off was already starting.

There was a tap on the door. She left, returning with two bowls. She handed one to him.

"Can you stay a little?" he asked between bites.

She checked the time. "Not long." She fished around in her pocket and pulled out a book, putting it on the table. "This one's good. It helps when you can't get to sleep."

He finished his food and handed her the bowl. "I might need it tonight."

She took the bowls, stacking them together. "I have to go. Try to get some rest. They'll be here for therapy right after curfew."

He was trying to arrange pillows and get the blanket loose. She had him roll to the side and retrieved the blanket, then piled his pillows for him.

"Thank you," he said.

She stopped. She didn't hear that much with her job. "Rest well," she said.

She left quietly, and he picked up the book. On the first page was a small note. He even recognized the handwriting.

"To Julian Bashir, secret agent, in memory of better times."

He smiled a little. Miles didn't get by to see him often, but he came when he could. But the book said everything.

His leg hurt too much to read long, but he opened the first page. "The Spy Who Came in From the Cold" it said.

Once, he'd played like one. Miles was always Falco, one of the bad guys. Sometimes Odo played, and he'd even introduced Garak to his private little world.

But he'd almost killed his friend. Now he was dead. Miles was too busy being a pawn, and Odo might be dead. But even if the world they came from was gone, he could still remember it.

He read the first page of the book. An agent named Lemas was waiting for his contact to cross into the western side of the divided city of Berlin, but he was late.

Bashir settled down in his bed, reading the first chapter. Lemas was met by a woman with bad news. His contact had been betrayed. He was going to cross at a different place along the Wall. But in the end, the man fell to an East German guard.

He'd played in Berlin. He'd crossed the Wall once in an adventure, and it had been just a place. But now, it was much more. Their Wall was longer and not so solid, but just as real. He hoped that somewhere there was a Lemas waiting in a ship for his man, and like the one in Berlin, this one would fall some day as well.

He pushed the book away, dropping it on the table. Across the room, his things sat arranged neatly on a shelf.

But the room was too quiet, and he missed the sounds of other sleepers. The bed was bigger and more comfortable, but not the same. Slowly, he took a crutch and dragged himself to his feet.

He explored the place. It was so plain. Only his one little shelf of things broke the monotony. But he'd always traveled light. When the station was left behind, he'd taken all that really mattered. This place was no more empty than his quarters on DS9 had been.

But there was a difference. He stopped at the door. He couldn't see the sky from his window, but wondered if the stars were shining. Was it forbidden to just open the door and look out, or did one have to leave the room to be in trouble?

It was too small a place to be locked inside. Willman would put him on restrictions, even if he wasn't really part of the staff yet. He turned around, making his way to the bedroom and hefted himself into the bed. The pain was terrible, but it was better than the reality outside.

Julian Bashir, secret agent, played again that night. But this time the enemy found him, and he woke to the sound of guns.

o0o

Winding his way around the supply building in the dark, pushing open the door after unlocking it, Michael Emery found the stillness so spooky he hurried his business there so he could get back to the quiet noise of the night food crew. They had a surprise in mind, and didn't want it to show up on the regular supply list, so he was making this unusual trip to Supply in the middle of the night. There had never been many people up this late, but since the official curfew there was almost no one. Most departments had eliminated all nighttime activity. Supply was one of the few departments which could not, though most people didn't really want to work the few remaining night shifts.

He had volunteered to be assigned permanently to the closing shift, still working with the food crew–his crew, he thought. They had become his best friends. He was officially responsible for the accounting of the supplies they used. But in reality he did a little bit of everything except the actual cooking. He always helped with the preparation, and usually served the food to the occasional security person who showed up for dinner. He liked this life so much better than the one with nothing but reports to prepare.

Back then, he had volunteered to do closing as often as he could. The isolation appealed to him. Since they had moved into the warehouse, the preparation area and his small corner office had been sectioned off, and they worked entirely on their own. They had managed to preserve the informality of the original colony. He was an official, but people liked the food and they enjoyed making it taste a little better. When they make an especially good meal it offered everyone a little cheer. And in an odd way, working at night made it easier to sleep. Most people worried that They would come at night, when everyone was asleep. At least his crew would have some warning.

Gathering the supplies and boxing them, he hurried out of the building, locking the door. On his way back he passed a security guard, and reached for the pass in his pocket. The guard, a young man who savored his breakfast after his shift was done, just waved him on. It occurred to him that he liked the night so much better. He didn't see much of the day anymore unless there was a meeting he had to attend, but didn't enjoy it much. Everybody on his crew knew their chances, but they were not giving into the gloom. Depressed, there were fewer jokes, often mean ones, and they were just as afraid. But over the minced food and copies of lists, they talked.

Noting the serving area was empty, he wandered back into the prep area and handed the spices to the cook, who nodded. "They keep track of what we ask for," said one of the women, "trying to guess . . . ." She grinned briefly. "It's almost worth getting up early, just to see the reaction."

"I have to go to a meeting," said Michael. "I'll fill you in." The thought of the meeting depressed him. "You're lucky. You don't have to listen to the excuses."

"What kind of excuses?" asked the chef.

"All these things done for our benefit, so They won't turn on us. It's supposed to help. I wonder if they really believe it."

Silence descended on the room. One of the women was visibly pregnant and especially quiet. He thought her name was Shandra. She asked, "What happens when they come?" The chef stopped stirring. The women stopped mincing. Emery was sorry he'd brought it up. For a moment they were just like the rest, trying to find a way around the words they couldn't say.

Finally the chef broke the silence. "I think we'll do a plain serving too. If you don't like spices it wouldn't be much of a treat." The rest of the night the conversation never veered from the food.

o0o

James sat on the floor, choosing colors for the children's hair. It was the third day in a row he had worked late, and he had added very little to the children since then. He found the shadow world very disturbing. There was a fear he saw in those around him, but he didn't allow it to touch him. He couldn't wait to go back to the bright, living world that was existed in this room.

But as he began painting the children, wildly tumbling in the park, the shadows faded to non-existence. All he could see were the children, and hear their playful noise. It filled his mind with joy, and remembered memories of his own childhood in that park. But it was late. He put down his brush and paints and finished the daily routine, and went to sleep with the children's sounds still filling his head.

Morris came in the morning, knocking on the door, and James was ready. He was happy. In the distance, he could still hear them. He ate his food, hardly noting the taste. The children were louder here, calling him. He followed Morris to the office, and took his stacks of papers to the records room to file. There was a small window. As he came closer to it, the sounds of childish play grew louder, and he looked out the window. Instead of the greyish shadow world, he saw the children. The grass was green, blending with the buildings which belonged to the shadow world. They waved at him, and returned to their games.

Later, at lunch, he heard them clearly as if they were just outside the door of the warehouse that had become a restaurant. He looked around the grey, ghostly world inside the building and it no longer touched him. He did not even feel their unease. They existed, but in a grey reality he no longer belonged to. In his world, he was happy, and theirs was a shadow filtered through the bright colors of his own.

o0o

Sisko could feel the excitement in the words, as Justin Blanchard described the tests he had done on his plant samples. He was accomplishing wonders on the project. He had even gotten Tarlan to write his own reports, even if the Bajoran was not officially attached. If only, thought Sisko wistfully, that was their only project. He understood Willman's insistence that the two not be questioned. He was sure that Blanchard had put the same single minded devotion into his other project as well. He only hoped he had finished his terraforming and discovered what he needed to know.

The only mention of terraforming from the scientist had been a note that he and Tarlan were assembling a history of the project. There was nothing Sisko could see wrong with that. Blanchard and Tarlan ate lunch and dinner together every day, and had not gone anywhere near the hills. Sisko could not help being angry at the two men for what they had done. But still, unless they forced things, he did not want to catch them. He was not ready for that.

o0o

Justin surveyed the dinner crowd, noticing their rather depressed look. He missed the conversation, and the companionship he had felt with them not so long ago. The test had changed that. People no longer talked at meals. They just ate and left. And, worse, he and Tarlan were no longer a part of them. He had seen the way Sisko looked at him, and noticed the mixture of sadness and anger. He knew they were marked men. If They were displeased nothing now would save them.

But the tinge of regret he felt at meals vanished in those scarce moments when he was free to work on the new project. They had already found a number of plants which were edible, and grew readily in their small indoor test garden. Sisko had even asked to see the garden. It was something they needed, thought Justin, a small chance at independence from Them. And for him it was a chance to make up for what the test had done. He believed that even Sisko appreciated that.

A few days before, that would have been enough. But Jaro had discovered a record of the chemical mixture for the test, and before it was hidden away, Justin had reviewed it. He almost wished he had not looked. The test would have failed, and they might not have known why. But he had, and now they must try again. The mixture had been off by only a little, but it would have been enough to ruin it. They had failed.

He was not blind to the danger in which they had placed the colony. Jaro was particularly depressed, but was too scared to show it. He himself was having difficulty getting to sleep. He often thought about the insidious nature of their captivity while fulfilling his official duties, recognizing the tentacles of control that reached into their lives. He would have waited to do the retest until the next spring, when it would be much easier to do, but there was too much uncertainty about the future now.

He had considered another gathering expedition, but he was certain they were being watched. And it was almost harvest time anyway. His absence would be too noticeable until harvest was done and the records were completed. That left winter, and somehow before the ground froze, he and Jaro planned to slip into the hills and make one final test of their obsession, no matter what it cost them. The need to know could not be denied.

o0o

Julian's life had fallen into a new routine. Each morning Lonnie arrived to walk with him to breakfast. She'd threatened to tell Willman that he was leaving on the brace, so now he carefully removed it before bed. It hurt, but Willman had spared him any duties yet. His official responsibility was his therapy and to gain strength. Now and then he had a file to read, and was asked for his opinion, but he hadn't been made to see any patients, and did not have to wear the despised little round pin.

He found he liked having more mobility, despite the pain it brought. He was always ready for Lonnie's arrival in the morning. The dull grey's of the ground and the utilitarian buildings were hardly inspiring, but he hadn't realized how good it felt to be outside. The people trapped here were quiet and resigned, but he enjoyed their company.

Lonnie left the serving area without him. If the weather was good, breakfast was still served outside, but much of the time it had moved to the old warehouse. For him, it was a long walk, and Lonnie allowed him to sit while she got the food. There was usually a line, but she didn't stand in it. People with limited time to eat-those with little round pins-were permitted to move ahead of the others, and Lonnie had to be on duty soon. He had to be at his therapist later, but she brought his as well.

It was the same food they had gotten at the hospital, although often it had more flavor than the batch sent to patients. It was still soup. By dinner it would be thick and the broth would have become a gravy, but in the morning it was mostly broth. At least it didn't take long to eat.

Sometimes, he would follow Lonnie back on the long pathway towards the hospital to his therapy, when his leg hurt more than normal. It hurt all the time, and worse than ever. But his therapist was very pleased. With all the walking, he was suddenly doing much better. He had even been able to stand and take a few steps without the crutches. For him it was mostly pain, but he had tried it alone in his room.

Willman wanted him walking as soon as he could manage. If it rained or snowed later, the crutches could easily slip. But for Bashir, his success was double-edged. He wanted to be a doctor, even in Willman's world. But he had nightmares about the pain.

It was mid-morning by the time his therapy ended. He let the crutches move him to get home, loosened the brace and slept. The best time of the day was the early afternoon. The pain had lessened enough he could drag himself back to the upper deck. His friends, those he'd spent so many months with confined at the hospital, would meet and sit together.

A lot of people sat on the deck in the afternoon. The little group from the hospital had claimed a spot they occupied each day. Some with jobs, like Duncan, only came for lunch, but the rest enjoyed the afternoon breezes and the company. Sometimes they talked, but often they simply shared memories. He didn't have anywhere to go after lunch, so waited to stand in line when the rush was done, and seldom had a long wait.

Sometimes he just watched the people. He'd known a lot of them in the other life, but seldom made any contact. He was still different than they were. He hadn't had to sit in the square and listen to the Vorta. He hadn't had Jem'Hadar rifles pointed at him all afternoon. He'd lived in a protective cocoon for too many months, and had not yet quite taken in what life in this place was like. Sometimes people said hello, but he was polite and they left.

He couldn't deal with the loss. Like everyone else, now that he had to live in the world They had created, he'd wiped away that other life as if it was a dream and he had finally awakened into reality.

o0o

Duncan had rushed his lunch that day. Since his report to Dax, every department had their training officer now. Even the ones which were technically sub-departments had someone in charge of the task. There were reports now, too. Among the things addressed was general attitude. Those who would not take the job seriously were dismissed. Later, he assumed, there would be other things to do. He paid close attention to the rumors and gossip, assuming some exaggeration but also some truth. Blanchard was very excited about the plants. Some had edible fruits on them. Come spring, he assumed, there would be work for those who could not be trusted with forms.

That day he'd held a meeting with all the training officers, in an official meeting room in the section where senior staff worked. It was a recognition of the importance of the job. Now, his lunch sitting before him, his mind was full of ideas. His notes were as neat and complete as he always kept them, but his report would be read by all the department heads. It must be explicit. Sipping his lunch, barely noticing if they'd flavored it much that day or not, he was anxious to go. But then, someone caught his attention.

For so many months, Julian had lay next to him as their injuries healed. They had had endless conversations. Duncan had been one of the first of those with longer term injuries to be sent out into the world. He could remember trying to tell them, but now the details were all blurred. He could not let that in or the Monster would find him again. Still it waited in the dark, watching for him to weaken. But he would give it no satisfaction for it had already served its purpose. There would be no more clerks who didn't pay attention and they would know of those who didn't care later when there was more to do..

With great pride, he wore a staff pin now. The lines of desks in Supply were busy, and each of them wore a pin too. It was their recognition, their reward. Before they had been spending the day. Now, they *belonged*.

But, he realized, Julian did not wear a pin. He wasn't on duty yet, but he still was staff. If he was one of the clerks he'd have already failed. Duncan knew Willman didn't have a choice, for there were fewer potential doctors than clerks, but just the same he should have insisted.

He must have been too obvious, since Julian was looking at him. "How does it feel to be busy?" ask the doctor.

"Much better," he said, watching. Julian did not look forward to his time, coming soon. Duncan couldn't remember what that had felt like anymore. Still watching, he added in a careful tone, "I'm surprised your not busy already."

Julian looked away. "I assume I will be soon. The therapist was happy today."

"Have you been given your pin yet?" ask Duncan.

A dark look passed over the Doctor's face. "Fortunately, no," he said, daring him to comment.

Someday, he would forget and use that attitude with Willman, and Willman would make sure he was corrected. "I do hope it is soon. You are needed," he said more sharply than he intended.

Gloom settled in the doctor's face. "I know," he said and broke through Duncan's shield. Just a little but enough that with a hurried nod he picked up his empty bowl and retreated until he could shut it and all the doubts that nothing they did really mattered anymore into its own dark and lonely place forever.

o0o

Disturbed by the conversation, Bashir needed to move around, and the line was short. He had discovered that what passed as food here could be anywhere from awful to decent. By the time the lunch tub was half full, the larger chunks which sunk were dipped out. You didn't get anymore, but he liked them better. The word was it was well seasoned that day. After Duncan and his pin comment he wanted something he might enjoy. Duncan and his attitude was known even in Medical, where they didn't need anymore of that.

Using only one crutch, he balanced on his good leg, listening to the story the older woman was finishing up nearby. Since her husband's death a month ago, she had been spending her days with stories and readings, making life a little easier, he supposed. This time it was King Arthur and his table, but she was near the end of the story and their last battle was nearing. The boy sent away was told to remember, but he didn't see why. What use was it when everything you cherished was gone?

He took his bowl carefully, keeping his walk as steady as was possible and took his seat again, eating it slowly, hoping to fill the time. His leg was hurting too much and he wanted to finish so he could find a more comfortable place to rest it. All his friends had drifted away already and he was trying to divert his attention from the pain, his last few bites done, when he realized Miles was near. Moving closer, not really seeing Julian, he hesitated. He watched a family a little distance away with several children, wondering what sort of life a child would have in this place.

Lonnie had said there were a number of pregnancies. Some women wanted to end them, or ask for some form of birth control, but she could not help them. They had drugs for ordinary conditions, but nothing to keep children from being born.

It was another thing they couldn't do. He knew Willman had special interest in him since he was a surgeon. He could do what Willman couldn't. But most of it was impossible here. Perhaps he was hoping that Bashir would find ways to do more as he had done.

He was deep in this thought when Miles sat next to him. "It's good to see you up and moving around," said Miles.

Julian broke out of his mood, looking towards Miles. "I guess." It was impossible to explain the relief and the fear. "I was watching those children. This is no life for them. Even now."

Miles glanced at them. "That's Jackson's family. I don't know about the kids, but he has a reason to go home at night."

Julian realized what he'd said. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I guess you'd rather have them here than there."

"I'd just settle for knowing if they're alive." Miles decided to change the subject. "Have you had seconds yet? Something special tonight so you can. If you want I can get it?"

Julian was still staring at the people in the square. "That's all right. I'll get it later."

Miles looked towards the second bridge and the lump of rock that was being filled with holes that had hindered the plans for the mud channel, located right at the edge of the deck. "I sure wish we could have finished that. Now it's going to have to be done as early in spring as we can, hopefully before the snow melts."

Julian shifted his gaze in that direction. "Why all the holes?"

"We fill them with water and when the freeze comes it should break it up. At least that's the theory. We can't budge it otherwise. It's that or dig around it. We don't have time for that." Miles sighed, again, adding, "It's going to be a real mess next year if we can't fix it in time. It's just going to funnel all the mud out on this area."

Julian looked back at the people. "I missed it this year. With luck I'll miss it entirely." He tried to think of more to say, but he didn't quite relate to Miles anymore. His friend had changed so much, and yet now and then was the same. Julian couldn't deal with the reminders of all they'd left behind that those moments represented.

Looking at the time, Miles took his leave, "I really have to get back to work," he said with a tone Julian recognized as relief.

Some of his friends were coming back. He realized that while Miles still mattered these people mattered to him more. They belonged to the world he lived in. Miles carried too many ghosts.

It was a warm day and he stayed in the square all afternoon. By dinner it was beginning to fill up again. People still preferred the outdoor arrangement over the warehouse. He was reading a book in the shade by himself when Lonnie found him. She was off for the day, and he let her get their food.

He always ate dinner with her. His friends understood. Breakfast was far too rushed to enjoy, but dinner only had to be finished before dark. It was the closest to private time they had.

He couldn't define what she was to him. Their letters had formed a special bond. They could talk without having to say all the words. She had to live in Willman's little hell, and he would have to as well. Their private code words made the difference. He could never tell her how much the letters had mattered.

She sat down, putting his food next to him. Something was wrong. She didn't sigh in relief that the day was done.

"What happened?" he asked cautiously.

Dinner was good, the chunks of ration and vegetables thick and soft. The seasonings had soaked in and he wished he could just sit and enjoy his meal. But Lonnie was too tense. She ate a little of her dinner, staring across the deck towards the hospital. But finally she put down her spoon and looked at him. "Dr. Willman wants you in his office tomorrow afternoon after lunch. You are supposed to wear this." She pulled a small staff button out of her pocket.

He looked around at the square and the people. "Do you know what he wants?" both resigned and relieved. Willman was going to pull him inside eventually.

"No. But he stressed you were to wear your staff button. I think he wants you to look at a patient. We have a couple of cases who aren't getting anywhere. Maybe you'll enjoy it."

"Perhaps." He couldn't say right then, staring at the little round pin he was going to be forced to wear.

They finished their food in silence. Before they made their way back he tried to find one of his friends to tell them he wouldn't be able to come, but they'd gone.

She found his better clothes for him, putting them out for him to wear, and attached the little pin to the collar. "Make sure you don't take this off," she reminded him.

He said nothing, letting her take off the brace. "I'll be ready," he said.

It would be different tomorrow. They could be friends here, but inside they would have roles and rules to follow.

"Any idea who I'm going to see?" he asked.

"A little girl, I think."

It would be all right, he told himself. Even if he had to put up with Willman, to be a doctor again . . . .

She said good bye as she left quietly, needing to hurry because curfew was so close.

His leg hurt. He could see the little pin on his shirt from across the room. It was going to be a very long day. But just the same, he realized he was looking forward to the morning.

end, Legacy, Year 1, part 1-4, Chapter 15


	17. Part 4Interesting Times Chapter 16

LEGACY

An Alternate History of the Dominion War

Year 1

Part 4- Interesting Times

Chapter 16

****Bashir treats Katre

The next afternoon, without much rest and after a hurried lunch with Lonnie, Bashir was officially presented at Willman's office. He wore his good shirt, but the only jacket he had was the crumpled one he'd been wearing since his release. He'd noticed that Lonnie had checked for the pin as soon as she met him.

He'd been tempted to leave it off, at least until just before he had to put it on. But for the first time he went to lunch and moved to the head of the line on his own, by the authority of the little pin.

He didn't like using it, but it wasn't much different than letting Lonnie get his food with hers.

Feeling nervous enough to not notice how bad his leg was throbbing, he stood in front of Willman. Lonnie had come in, but she was dismissed with a wave of Willman's hand.

He knew the rules. He didn't sit until given permission. He waited, but instead Willman stood, taking along several files. "Follow me, Doctor," he said.

It was strange, and very good, to be called a doctor again, even if it was Willman that said it. He hobbled after Willman down the corridor to the Children's Ward. They stopped by a bed where a little Bajoran girl slept, obviously fleshed with fever.

He recognized her from the station, the daughter of one of the Bajoran engineers. He had treated her several times for one of the recurring viral diseases left over from the Cardassians. Willman handed him the file. Quietly, so the others wouldn't hear, Willman said, "I'm not having any luck. I'm hoping you will."

Then he moved away. Dr. Julian Bashir was on his own.

He pulled up a chair and eased himself into it, handing the crutches to a nurse. The girl woke up, looking him over. "Katre, do you remember me?"

Her eyes focused slowly. "The healer daddy took me to when I was sick. Did you come to make me better?"

"Yes, but I need you to tell me if you were sick before you came here and got better on your own."

She looked scared. "Yes. Daddy was afraid to take me. Mommy made him."

Bashir made a note to talk to the parents and find out what home remedy they had used. "All right, Katre, I'll be back to see you but you have to promise to do what the other doctor and the nurses tell you to, and take your medicine."

She trusted him. "I promise." Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. "I want my Mommy and

Daddy."

He didn't know if Willman was allowing them to visit or not, but the girl was using Bajoran and he was almost certain that Willman didn't understand it. "I'll see if they can come. And I'll tell them you miss them." She cried, the tears rolling down her cheeks. He tried to imagine how it would feel to a child to be trapped in this place. "Now, try to sleep."

She took his hand. "Please," she whispered.

Willman walked up to the bed and she let go. "I'll have a nurse swab her down again. It's the only thing that helps."

Katri watched as Bashir took her hand and squeezed it a little. The tears stopped. Willman said nothing. "The nurse is going to help you feel better," he told her in Bajoran.

o0o

A little while later, in Willman's office, Bashir was listening to his first lecture. "Now, that jacket. It's rumpled and messy. You don't go on duty like that. I'll ignore it this time since you don't have another, but when you start you'll have a jacket that must be kept in better shape than that. Do you understand?"

Bashir, surprised by the lecture, said, "Yes, Sir," remembering the proper address.

"As far as language goes, I'd like Standard used if possible. In this case, Bajoran was probably best for the child, but if there are other options, use something I can understand."

Bashir nodded, wondering if Willman didn't trust his Bajoran staff either. "I will remember that. Sir."

"And now, I'd like your report and suggestions. And a translation."

First, he gave a translation of the conversation with the child, and explained he'd treated her for the same condition several times. Willman looked concerned.

"Is this a Cardassian virus?" he asked.

"Originally, but this is its adaptive form. As far as we know it's only mildly contagious."

"To what species? What about humans?" Willman was frowning. "Humans can catch it, but it's very rare and very mild. It doesn't reoccur as it does in Bajorans. Katre isn't contagious to anyone in this stage."

"Was she?"

"No, not yet. It's only spread when it becomes a respiratory infection. She's not there yet."

"What would you recommend? I haven't had any luck." Willman suddenly looked very tired, but there was something more, something Bashir hadn't seen before in him. It was fear, and resignation. Even his lecture hadn't had the sting he was famous for. As Bashir explained the available options, and suggested asking the parents about their own efforts, he felt more afraid than ever before for Katre and all the others.

Willman was afraid of an epidemic, especially one he couldn't treat. Bashir still resented the man, but could see a little of the terror that he hid behind the mask.

o0o

Somehow, there should be some kind of ceremony, she thought, as she rubbed the space where the bracelet had been. Megan had been called away from work after lunch, then taken to a building she'd never been to in the honeycomb of their compound. A greysuit had ask her to sit, ask her questions to verify the things on her form, and taken her to the machine. She lay back as her wrist was encased in a soft band. There was a tingling, warm feeling and her hand was released, then the bracelet detached. Megan had watched as it and the form was dropped in a bag and sealed. She hadn't known if she should go or what exactly it meant.. Nobody had told her but she knew it was the first step.

She'd been sent to wardrobe, where her clothing size was rechecked and adjusted a little. Then she was told to change, led to a changing room, where a grey uniform hung on a hanger. It wouldn't fit right, but it was temporary, she was told. She should leave her other suits out where they could be picked up when her new ones were delivered the next day. After the jacket was slightly refit, a little loosely shaped for their standards, she was sent down another corridor to another office in her new grey uniform. It was all as if she was just dreaming and she'd wake up and find it was only a wish.

The greysuit reviewed a file, mostly about her job and residence. Her new position was just a level up, but it was enough that she was now fully a member of CA. She was no longer considered conscripted. It did not occur to her to substitute other labels. She wasn't a silver anymore. But lacking a bracelet hadn't saved the staff from the warehouse when they raided.

It did, however, give her more options. Sir would promote her again. Eventually the only promotion available would be to somewhere else. She didn't care where as long as it had nothing to do Sir or dissapearing supplies..

After everyone making it sound like the day had been rather ordinary, returning to work in her new grey uniform was notable. Sir had been drowning in a pile of forms but had moved to the side and ask her to come. She was on edge. Despite the words of congratulations, the edge was more brittle and the words a little more careful. She was supposed to see him that night and have dinner and was now far behind in her forms. She ask, most politely, if she could wait until tomorrow to finish as she had an engagement that evening. It was no surprise that Sir agreed, but the wary look in her eyes she couldn't cover anymore was a small comfort. Sir wanted to get rid of her as soon as she could.

For a moment, Megan had been in charge of something. Sir had belonged to her. It wasn't just her moment, but belonged to all of them in the room who might fall along with her when their patience was done. Maybe it wouldn't change anything, but she *knew* and perhaps when she looked at them instead of her own survival being everything she might understand just how much it was going to cost.

She sat at her desk, picking up the papers one by one, all third fills. As she wrote in the numbers, each recorded with the precision that probably marked her forms, and had marked the ones Sir would never give her again, she studied them a little more carefully than before. The moment they'd taken away the bracelet, nothing was the same.

Tonight, when he took her home for dinner, when the nanny spied on them as they celebrated and Chele greeted her with bubbling joy, would he see that a stranger now sat at his table?

o0o

Julian shared dinner with Lonnie, and she noted he'd removed the pin as soon as he left the hospital. "He won't like that. Your supposed to leave it on. He made a big point of that."

"I'm still only visiting, and I wear it only when I have to until then. He said my jacket was messy too."

"It is. He doesn't like the staff to look like you slept in your clothes."

Bashir shrugged. "This is all I have."

"I'm sure he'll fix that, and when you have a better one remember that. He will." She took a bite of her dinner, making a face. "I wonder who made this. It's tasteless." When he didn't reply, she put down the spoon and touched his hand. "How's the little girl?"

"Oh, she's had this before. She'll get over it, but it will take a while. I think we found something that should work. She needs the Bajoran herbs that I used before, but the parents had run out. This should be pretty close." He shook his head. "It felt good. I still don't like Willman but I guess I can get used to him. He said something before he let me go. He said he was glad I was as good as they said I was. I guess this is the as close to a compliment as he comes."

She nodded. She might have smiled a few days before, but didn't feel much like it with the tension at work. Willman was nervous. Something had scared him that he didn't want to confide in the staff. But despite the lecture, he liked Julian's work.

"That is pure admiration. Don't be surprised if he doesn't put you on duty soon. We really need you."

He slowly let out a breath. "I know. I could tell. Willman was exhausted." He paused, taking a bite of his dinner. "The only thing is," he paused, frowning, "he's going to expect more than I can give. I can only take so much of this pain before I have to rest. I don't see him worrying about that."

"Tell him. Really. He'll try to find something to help. Look, Julian. He's scared and he's not too forgiving right now. Nobody likes the man he's become, but he's still a good doctor and he'll work with you if you give him a chance." Lonnie was amazed. She didn't think she could still say something so kind about Willman.

"I'll see how it goes," said Bashir, noting her frustration but choosing to ignore it for the moment.

"Just think about it. Please," she urged him.

"I will," he said annoyed. "Let's find something else to talk about for a while.

They ended up discussing the weather, and that made him irritated. Even the planet was conspiring to make life more miserable for him. Lonnie was relieved to drop him at his quarters that evening.

o0o

While Lonnie and Julian were having their talk over dinner, across the room, Miles watched his friend. He was depressed. Julian had new friends now. He recognized the way he sat and talked with Lonnie that they had more than friendship and was glad for him. But Miles knew he was being left out in the cold.

He knew Julian was having a hard time of it. That was quite obvious. But life wasn't easy for Miles, either, and all the other times Keiko and the family had been away his friend had tried to fill the empty hole. Now he could not. There was nothing they could remember together that wasn't too painful. There were no holosuits anymore, and the old warehouse was a poor substitute for Quark's. But at least they might have been able to talk.

But that wasn't to be. Miles had learned to cherish his memories. He could see that Julian could not deal with them at all, and Miles was a big part of them. He would give him time, and let him find his own kind of peace. And then he would try again. He hoped it would not be too late.

Miles finished his food and wandered back to his quarters. He pulled out the bags he had brought from the station, and gently laid the contents on his bed. There were a few personal mementos from his own life, including the gifts they had received when Kirayoshi was born. He remembered who had given each gift. The baby things were either left on the station, or with Keiko and the children, but he had saved the little keepsakes to remember. There was a small Bajoran charm from Neres, making him think of her somewhere on Bajor, if she was alive. He looked thought the carefully wrapped items and found the one from Jadzia. It was a small gemstone, ready to set as a surprise for Keiko when he had the time. It was her favorite color. He carefully wrapped it, thinking of the quiet, distant woman Jadzia had become, and missed her too. Julian's small knickknack, a miniature British fighter plane, brought a smile. They had been his friends, and he had lost all of them.

He closed that bag and opened the one he had brought for his wife, and took out the red dress. He remembered her wearing it just for him the day of the Gratitude festival. He held it close, imagining he could smell her presence. He missed her, and still stubbornly believed she was alive, but that belief was fading. He clung to his faith that she would come back to him, as a child holds a ratty old blanket that still means security. But even children give up the blanket some day, and as news continued to leak out of Sisko's office about the Federation colony's fate he had more and more doubts. He looked at the sky sometimes, wondering when They would come and hoping that if she was dead they would take him too.

o0o

Darla was still awake when Megan returned that evening, but in bed. She carefully took off the new clothes and hung them up, before noticing the white bag lying on her bed.

"Didn't think you'd be back tonight," said Darla suddenly, sliding back the blanket from her huddle of covers.

"Sir said I could finish up tomorrow," she said levelly, knowing that wasn't what had been meant."

Darla shifted around and her face could be seen now, looking amused. "So I guess you should pack a bag then."

Megan was tired and the enormoity of it all was hitting her and she just wanted to go to bed. "No, I'll work pretty late. I'll come in quiet so I don't wake you up."

"She might just have someone else do it for you. Favors, you know."

Megan picked up the white bag. "What's this?" she said, choosing to ignore the comment. Sir had now given her almost all the third fills anyway and if she wasn't there they would not be done in time. But Darla would think what she wanted.

"Wardrobe. Said put the old suits in it and they'll pick them up tomorrow." Darla sounded sleepy and she wished she'd shut up and go back to sleep. Megan wasn't in the mood for conversation, and Darla wasn't really trying for it either.

"Fine," she said, dressed for bed. She crawled in, arrainging her pillows, dimming the lights. "Though I was going to get the new one dirty tonight. We had something with this sauce which dribbled everywhere." She could see the kids experimenting with the pasta and the mess they'd made. It had at least distracted the nanny from watching so close. "Then, to celebrate, we had triple fudge sunday's for desert," she added. It was too bad that Darla hated chocolate. It had been a good night, no matter what else had changed. "Chele called me mommy tonight," she said, floating on the joy and letting it make her feel like things would be okay. She turned on her side, finally comfortable enough to relax, when Darla destroyed it.

"He's using them you know. He's being pressured to marry someone and won't. So now he has a rising star greyshirt everyone has noticed to counter with, and he knows you'll do anything for the kids."

She wondered if Darla had heard this or it was one of the random rumors that got made up to get back at your rivals. "They're his kids. So would he."

"Right. And they know it. Now that he can marry you I'd make sure to sleep with him. Get pregnant and he'll do everything he can to protect his own kid."

Megan didn't want to think about that yet. The new turn in her life was too early to contemplate all the ramifications. But he had asked her to come to him when she finished her late night in a few days. The children would be asleep. The nanny should be gone but there was no guarentee. The kids were already excited about it and she did want to spend the day with them again. The bond forged in that dungeon had not been lost. He'd already shown her off in the blue dress at Chele's party and if she spent the night it would just cement the idea that she was to be joining them soon.

"I'm spending my day off there. We'll see," she said, yawning now, the days weight making her want to escape into her own private dreams.

"Good, then you won't come in and wake me up," said Darla, somewhere between complete understanding and complete disapproval.

Megan had never gotten involved in relationships because she didn't want to have to give up her dreams, but now that might be all that would save them.

o0o

On Bajor, They had already come, and were, bit by bit, finding and taking all foreigners away, then punishing those who hid them. The rumors of atrocities were rampant, some true, and many in spirit if not factually.

In Shatara, cut off from most areas by the steep mountains and the secretive nature of the village, the rumors took time to reach them. Their view of the invasion was delayed, and nobody really knew how bad it was or how far the Dominion had gone.

Still, desperate for news, any scrap of information that reached the remote mountain village was shared instantly.

The second occupation of Bajor was well underway. Except this was different than the excesses of the Cardassians. The Dominion had organized a new government made up entirely of Bajorans. They were responsible for keeping the residents under control, and only when they didn't did the Jem'Hadar appear.

It had only been five years since the Cardassians had been the enemy and the Bajoran resistance had not forgotten how to fight. But since the guerilla activity had started, the Jem'Hadar were a common sight on Bajor. By fall they had even been seen in the mountains.

Keiko and the children had stayed out of sight for the summer, helping where they could without being seen. She was grateful for the protection, but it was hard living like that. The caves were secret and as safe a place as existed for them, but she wanted to feel the sunshine and smell the breezes. She was curious about the plants near the village, and yet could not go to them.

It was likely that if anyone saw them the information would be passed on and they'd be betrayed. But there was a way to fix that. Humans didn't look that different than Bajorans, if you discounted the nose.

She was standing near the opening in the cave, just looking at the trees as they swayed in the breeze when Marlan Sira ask her to come.

Around a bend in the cave, she had a small retreat where she could meditate. Keiko was motioned inside. "I see your distress. And it is hard for the children. But I have an idea."

Keiko watched as Sira touched the bridge of her nose. "Are you suggesting altering us to look like you?"

"Yes. There is some danger involved since we cannot do it ourselves. There is a Healer who we can trust, but he will not be here for a few months. You must stay inside until that."

Keiko slid her finger down the graceful tilt of her nose. "Wouldn't they detect us with DNA?"

"If they used it. There are enough of your species here that have chosen to join with them they can't really tell. No, what we must do is get you proper identification. We must establish a name and identity for you and the children that comes from before."

"A different name," said Keiko, hesitating. She hadn't considered that she might lose her own identity.

"There is no other choice," said Sira, taking her hand. "We hear that foreigners are being interned. We do not know the conditions, but given the history of these people it does not bode well."

Keiko touched her nose again, wondering how it would feel with the ridges covering it. "If we have to. My eyes, what about that?"

"We shall fix that," she said. "If this could be done tomorrow I would pursue it. But the Healer cannot be brought so soon. I fear that waiting will be most dangerous."

"We have to keep out of sight," said Keiko. "Completely out of sight."

"Yes."

Keiko took her hand. "We can wait." But she saw the fear. This enemy could hide anywhere. Both knew that the plan might be too late.

She returned to the recesses of the cave, needing to be alone.

She didn't want to become someone else. They knew the station had been evacuated. Miles had been forced to leave. She had so little of his, just a few things she'd taken when they were sent to Bajor for safety. She pulled them from her small bag, holding them tenderly.

He might be dead. But she had to believe that one day he'd come to take them home.

In the dark days to come, she would hold onto that hope. Somehow, even if she took another name, she would not lose him forever.

o0o

Kira Neres, in great frustration, studied the map. Dahkur province was still so far away from here. Each known concentration of Jem'Hadar was marked, and the problem was that there were far too many of them. She had not yet found a way past this rugged stand of mountains that did not involve crossing through an occupied area.

Odo had gone ahead in the hopes of finding a way, but she didn't have much hope. She was almost out of food, and if Odo didn't return soon would have to risk contact with the local resistance. She could not travel openly. The danger of capture was too great, and she knew too much to take the chance.

But she could not stay here forever. She had already ventured out at night, and quickly retreated back to her hiding place. There was someone nearby. According to the tricorder she carried they could be Jem'Hadar.

She needed to go home, but knew her journey might already be done.

When Odo returned, perhaps they could vanish together somewhere until they could try again.

o0o

There was no real basis for the hope, but Ben Sisko was trying to believe that somehow, things might get better. If they were lucky, the incident with the terraforming equipment would be the last, and somehow they might save themselves. But the newest rumors made that harder to believe.

Blanchard was not the only one who had hidden something. Others had stashed a few things that might, someday, be of help. Most had probably been hidden in the caves, but Willman's mysterious sources had told of things slipped back home. The area had been too easy to slip through for too long. No telling how many people had snuck back to retrieve their little stashes. His new policy was working, but it didn't help if there were things hidden in the little colony itself.

It was useless to pretend They didn't know. The Vorta had left no doubt about that. His hints were quite direct.

Jadzia came to share dinner nearly every night now, and he'd told her about the warnings one cold night.

But she had an idea. People were scared. Perhaps they could be convinced to give up their hidden things if there were no questions asked.

Perhaps the Vorta would find it sufficient that the things were destroyed.

It was the only chance they had to save themselves.

The box would be announced soon. There would be no penalty for breaking curfew if something was left in the box. No questions would be asked. Jadzia would destroy what had been collected in the morning.

If it didn't work he could order a search himself. His own people would do the work of the Jem'Hadar, and mark themselves forever as traitors. It would mean crossing a line neither he nor his people could ever erase.

The box was a better idea. He didn't want to know who'd taken things, as long as it had disappeared.

Dax had already placed the box. Quiet word had been spread about the offer. He'd pulled all the security from the area it was placed, and left a clear path.

It might not work, but it was the least dangerous thing he could do. If people were scared enough, perhaps he could save them.

o0o

Zale sat eating his lunch, in the same place he always did, near the secret way only he and a few others knew to enter the hills. He ate his lunch here every day, and usually brought his breakfast there as well, despite the cold mornings. Since the test, he and his friends had been much more careful, but they watched just the same. It would, indeed, have been considered unusual for him to be anywhere else than his spot.

But it was a carefully chosen location. From there, he could see the edge of the original section, and the small, nearly invisible place where one could slip past the first row of hills unnoticed. He could also watch the general movement of Sisko's guards. He knew when they would be looking elsewhere.

Tarlan Jaro had passed a note to him several weeks before. They wanted to know if it was possible to get into the hills undetected. Tarlan had found a note in his pillow two days later to confirm there was, and a timetable would be worked out as to when was safe. He didn't want to know anything more. Tarlan had stood next to him in the breakfast line the next morning, by accident bumping him and spilling his soup. It was the acknowledgment. When they were ready, he was. All he was waiting for was a message that it was time.

Sometimes he watched Vance, usually sitting with his new friends, and wondered what had happened. Vance's refusal to have anything to do with the installed government was their inspiration, and it disappointed him that Vance had gotten so quiet after that. For a long time he stayed by himself. For Zale, it was a final betrayal. He didn't understand why Vance was suddenly so afraid of Them that he dared not misbehave. But when there was nothing else to do, he watched Vance. Once the man had been his hero. Now, he dared not trust him.

He'd looked in vain for a sign of defiance, or the bitter refusal to go along. But something had taken that away, and Zale and his friends did not trust such sudden changes.

But his failure had only made them stronger. The small group of his former aides had vowed acts of resistance. They had, as yet, not come up with any ideas for themselves, but were happy to help Blanchard and his Bajoran friend. All he knew was it had to do with terraforming. Beyond that, he didn't care. It was against Their rules. That was all that mattered.

Even if it cost his life, at least his death would have a purpose.

o0o

Jadzia was amazed at the variety of things people had hidden away. Transferring the items to the container to destroy them, she marked off symbols on a list. As she marked them, she couldn't help but wonder what sort of hopes these things had represented. Now, all of that was gone. What had once been a seed of hope had become a symbol of fear.

She felt little as the devices were destroyed, neither satisfaction nor regret. It was something that had to be done. It would not save them but if they were lucky it might prevent a little of the misery. Nothing could keep away the darkness that awaited them. But it did not touch her. She was not to be a part of it.

She had known since her visit to Julian, just as she had known she would never see Worf again. It was knowledge that had come to her in a single moment as she had taken the soup to Julian, a flash of disorientation that had been as cold as space. Her life would end-all her lives. Ben and Miles-even Julian-belonged in this place. It would warp and change them forever. But she would not be touched. She would be dead long before there was time for that.

She would not die alone. Many others would be claimed, both then and in time. There would be a kind of victory someday, but for those here now, and their children, life would alter and twist and change them, and these things she had destroyed would be forgotten and left behind in the dust of memory.

She didn't tell Ben about these things. He knew their chances. He might have stopped trying so hard if he knew it would make no difference.

For he had to try. The Dominion wasn't going to destroy them. If they wanted to there already was ample reason to have done it. She was tired. She didn't know why these people were alive, but something was keeping them safe. As long as Ben cooperated and the Vorta could tell he was trying, tomorrow and the darkness to come would wait.

o0o

A large box had been set out in a relatively secluded area the first evening, the word spread that the area would not be watched. There was a top fastened securely with a flap that could be opened. The box was deep enough it would be impossible to reach in and take something without considerable effort. And if there was any sign of tampering, everything was off. Another rumor had spread that if that happened there would be a colony wide search by Sisko's own security people.

Sisko spent half the night awake, wondering if it would work, and fearing it wouldn't and the second option would be needed. The next morning he came in early, still half-asleep.

Dax arrived before anyone else. She knocked and he left without comment, moving towards his small private retreat.

Sisko waited for a minute, taking the baseball and squeezing it tight. Then looking at Jadzia impatiently, he asked, "Well?"

Jadzia handed him a list. The words were a shorthand of sorts, not easily readable, but it gave them a record. It was several pages long. Most of it was agricultural equipment, or household things, but there were a few tricorders in the box too. She sounded pleased. "I'd say we're a success."

"If that's what you could call this," said Sisko, both pleased at the willingness to turn the things in and surprised by the selection. "Is it?" he asked.

She nodded. "As soon as I counted it."

Sisko let out a deep breath. "A little less potential trouble."

"It's set up for tomorrow."

"Good. Maybe we have a chance after all." He pulled a list with a series of symbols listed along it. He took the scribbled list and checked off the items and placed it back in his desk. Dax took the list and placed it in a medical disposal bag. "Have you had breakfast yet?" he asked. Jadzia shook her head. "I'm hungry. Let's get some food."

"Sure."

Morris was there already. He disappeared for a moment to find a junior aide to get an extra breakfast.

Sisko returned to his small office and closed the door, opening it when the food had arrived.

They ate slowly that morning, drawing out the moment. Sisko stared at his bowl and muttered, "You know what I'd like. I'd like to ask the Vorta just what they are up to and get a serious answer. And if I don't like what he says, I'd like to quit."

She nodded. "A lot of people would like to do that." She looked down at the floor, not meeting his eyes. "I'd like to know *when*. If I knew when it would be easier. I just wonder each morning if it's the last." She traced the patterns of the shadows on the table, ignoring her food.

Sisko looked up at the sky. "You could be wrong."

"No, Benjamin, I'm right. I can still feel it. I can still *remember* it. It was ... my death. But there was something else there. Something very bad. It was as if it was warning me." She shook her head. "I hope we've made it a little better with this." She held up the bag.

"Old Man, I hope you're wrong. I don't know what I'd do without you. I think you're the only one that can remember Benjamin Sisko." He slumped back into his chair, defeated.

She looked up at him, for once more like the Jadzia he remembered. "I've heard things. They don't realize that I'm listening, but ... I think I know what you mean. People have noticed that I'm a little too close to you." She shrugged.

"I didn't want to do that to you." Sisko was still slumped, depressed, in the chair.

"I couldn't have told anyone else, Ben. I knew I'd never see Worf again, but I've lost others. This is different. Dax would always go on, and with Dax a little bit of me. But now not even Dax will continue." She grew very quiet.

Sisko looked at her, saddened. "We'll just have to make the best of whatever time there is."

They sat in silence, both finishing their food. It was getting late. People would miss them. Sisko sat up, noticing the time, and straightened himself, putting on his face. Jadzia looked up, her expression almost confident.

They left the room, wearing the masks that served their survival.

o0o

Duncan had gotten up early that day, washed carefully and dressed in the best he had. He didn't compare sample reports anymore. He had his own small and carefully hand picked staff for that. He even filed his own as a sub-department head of Supply. But he spent most of his time working with the Training Officers of other departments, holding weekly meetings, sharing ideas and thoughts and fine tuning the process he had begun. They did train, but there was so much more to it now than that. He was operating as at least the head of a sub-department, and wanted the recognition.

And even more he wanted it to be in the right place. He had started in Supply but his *job*, and that of his interviewers and evaluaters was security. He wanted recognition of that. He wanted it moved to the department which Sisko had origionally organized and still technically ran by himself.

Duncan had planned carefully. His request was about the fifth of the drafts, heaving edited and each word considered. It was printed in the tiny and even printing he had practiced and used for important documents. He waited past month end and made sure it wasn't any of the other important dates when heavy work had to be in. He wanted them to have the time to listen to his plea. The mysterious appearance of the "box" spoke of trouble being kept under wraps, and he thought, with the records they were keeping and the methods he and his fellows were discussing, it would be of much help, much more than *trusting* people to give up their secrets for everyone's good.

When he arrived, Dax was at her desk with a small pile of reports, mostly the final tier she did herself. She was finishing an early breakfast and relaxed. Emery was tired, finishing up his day as he was still on night duty. Duncan waited to be acknowledged, and kept it formal, even if she didn't run things that way.

"Can I help you?" she asked, evidently curious.

"Yes, Sir, I hope you can. If you have time for a proposal I've been working on."

She moved to a small table with two chairs, her desk still too piled to sit much of anything on it. He sat carefully, attentively but not betraying the nervous buzz inside him. Until that moment he hadn't realized just how important it was.

He lay his request in front of her. "This is the general outline of my proposal. I believe that my work with other Training Officers has greatly improved our work overall, and I hold weekly meetings with them. However, I think we could do even better if we were more coordinated. Essencially all departments fill out the same form so its less about what the department does than the methodology. And the secondary function we have taken on has been of even more value. By screening out those who will not show care in what they do and potentially could be already disobeying the rules out of that lack of concern, we also serve an ever increasingly important security function."

He paused there, and she was looking over his outline. "You want it organized as its own department?" she asked neutrally.

"Not necessarily." He picked up the second page, where he had detailed all of that. Reading the words he'd worked on so carefully, keeping himself on track, he continued. "What is needed is the general operations of my staff centralized under one department. Now, each sub-department has its own Training Officer and the best I can do is have meetings. We've come up with some excellent ideas but I think we could do much better if we all worked directly together. It could be its own department," he said, suddenly realizing he was suggesting promoting himself to Department head. "Or more properly it's a function of Security, and should be overall a part of that department as that is a growing concern."

She looked interested. "You have some good points. I'll need to read this over and discuss it with Director Sisko."

"Thank you, Sir," he said. Sometimes it was because it got good results when he used the phrase, but this time it was quite genuine. But he was excited now, even if at most it barely showed.

"As Security is not an independent department, this would be a major shift, but we could most certainly organize your people as a sub-department of Supply, since we figure in every department. Your reports on individuals who show, I believe you call it 'attitude problems', are being read by them already."

All at once he had been both praised and chided. His work was recognized. Pushing too hard was as well. Eventually, he believed, he *belonged* in Security. It was his best talent and his staff was picked with the same in mind. But this was a careful game and he must not overplay it. "I'm very pleased at that. If there is anything they want my people to watch for I've picked them for their ability to be subtle about that sort of concern."

She looked thoughtful. "Very comendable. I'll be sure to mention that to him. Just keep yourself available today." She picked up the proposal. "Do you have another copy?"

"Certainly," he said, handing her the second one he'd done, sure there would be a need for two. "I don't have anything scheduled today."

"Good. You'll probably be busy," she finished, and he took his clue. But walking away, for the first time, he really felt as if he belonged in this place.

o0o

Dax shut the door, taking the time to carefully read the neatly printed document. She was meeting Ben for lunch, but thought he would want to see this before. Everything he stated was true. She was impressed not just by the proposal but his great care presenting it. Every word was carefully chosen. He'd dressed with such regard. Miles would have been annoyed, but she found it impressive. He'd created a function which they now depended on, but it was too scattered. She could, and would, at least centralize it under Supply as Food was and as Miles had made Building under Ops. Both operated mostly on their own, and sent a representative to meetings, but were not Departments.

But holding the papers, she could tell the extreme care with which they'd been prepared. The printing was so neat it almost could have been printed by machine. Each word had been weighed. He projected confidence in his work. But most of all it spoke of dedication. He was needed. Sisko needed him, but right then, Duncan McFarron was the last person he wanted on his staff for Mac (as the staff called him) really wanted to catch them.

Security would be quite willing to make suggestions. The Bajoran Security Chief would be happy to take his whole staff as well. But Ben was still trying to walk a careful balance, and it was clear her Training officer was not.

She put down the papers, allowing herself to remember her glimpse of the future. It wouldn't change that. But any step at maintaining order, just the determined *attempt* would matter. They could punish hard or they could punish permenantly. The choice was theirs. She didn't like what it made those like she and Ben and her training officer, but that didn't matter anymore.

For now, she would shield him and let him work. Willman's staff detested him and Sisko didn't interfere. If she gave Mac full reign he wouldn't stop her either. Ben simply could not *yet* bring himself to being the man he must be.

But that day was coming sooner than he wanted. And when They were done, she believed Ben would remain. Mac was needed now but then, when all the blinders were ripped away, he would be needed even more.

She would not see that world, but could make Mac a little more ready for it when his turn came to step to the top.

o0o

***Bashir goes officially to work "several"weeks after seeing Katre.

Just as Lonnie had predicted, several weeks later Bashir's long, quiet days were done and Willman officially added him to his staff. He was issued several shirts, for on-duty time only, and a new jacket for work, and ordered to wear his staff pin. He'd come to see the child every morning after his therapy, and she was doing better, but that had been voluntary. Now he was under Willman's thumb, and no matter how hard he tried to hide his dislike of Willman, he could not quite manage it well enough.

His day began early, rising and bathing, ready for Lonnie when she appeared for breakfast. He was still using the crutches, but could walk without them for short lengths. She would fasten the brace tighter, and sometimes start all over when he hadn't quite lined up the straps. They shared a hurried breakfast. She still got his food without going through the line, but there was little conversation. He had learned to lift his bad foot on the return trip, reducing the pain and making faster progress, but they still slipped in the back of the room for the staff meeting most of the time. They weren't late, but Willman still noticed. He expected promptness at staff meetings.

It began at the same time every morning, and was important in several ways. For the staff, it was the chance to measure Willman's mood. If he was in a bad mood, everyone knew to be on their best behavior. Occasionally he was relaxed and they could be less harried. That day, his manner was more normal, almost distracted as if he had plenty on his mind and little time to spend there.

Willman always discussed the supply shortages, which effected which procedures were allowed that day unless it was an emergency. If someone had been behaving badly Willman might make an example of them. Bashir had been the example already and was trying to be careful, at least in front of Willman. The meeting sometimes lasted nearly an hour, but usually were brief, and he and Lonnie would go to work.

He worked with her. She was far more familiar with the available medicines and instruments, in terms of recent hands on experience, and he with medical background, so together they made a useful team. Katre was one of their patients. She was doing much better. He had started to teach Lonnie a little Bajoran, and when Willman wasn't around didn't use Standard with the girl. And there were others, too many others. He knew about the great limitations of medicine there, but had underestimated how bad it was.

There wasn't enough staff. In Willman's place he'd have started training more aides and technicians, but he knew Willman didn't agree. He reluctantly kept his feelings to himself, unwilling to risk Willman's distrust. But it bothered him.

He only worked half a day, and was very tired by the time lunch arrived. But he still went to the deck to join his friends. It was an escape. Slowly, they were drifting apart, but for now they could give a silent support without having to voice things that could not be said in public. Sometimes there was a long line, or he hurt to much to stand long, and he'd use his staff status to go to the front. He didn't like doing it, but there was little difference between that and letting Lonnie do it for him.

But the gathering ended early now. It was getting too cold by late afternoon to sit in the square, and he slowly made his way back to his quarters. When Lonnie finished the paperwork she had to do, she'd join him for dinner.

She always made sure the brace was off. He didn't know if he'd have done it himself. It always hurt twice as much when she pulled it off.

She usually didn't stay long. He was hurting too much and didn't want visitors. But he hoped that Willman didn't put her on a shift where she couldn't come.

He was too tired to say awake. But a few hours later, he would awaken, the pain too much for sleep. He would lie there, waiting for it to dim, and think about his life. To be a doctor again was very important to him, but the limitations were so enormous there. Willman valued him as a surgeon, but with so much missing, would it be more like butchery?

Others had gotten use to it. He didn't think he ever would. How could he leave patients maimed as he was? How could he condemn them to a life of pain in the name of survival?

He was trying to adjust, but the pain was getting in the way. The end of therapy spared him the worst of it, but he could only stand so long before it hurt so much he wanted to defy Willman and go home. He didn't because they needed him, not to escape Willman's intimidation. But he resented Willman, and knew that it showed.

He tried to keep it private. He needed what little he had of a personal life, and that would be taken away. Each time he had to stop himself from making a comment, or breaking a rule he reminded himself of the deck and his meals with Lonnie.

The hardest part came when Willman would drop the mask and let him see the fears that haunted him. For he understood. He knew about the enemy, too, and how quickly everything could change. He didn't like Willman's reign of terror, but knew why.

The worse part was holding it all inside. There could be no letters. Lonnie had buried most of her feelings. It would be so much easier for him when he could do the same.

o0o

********CALLA is seven months old!

Seven month old Calla, ever curious and ever moving, was closing in on her brother's creation. Jeffery had stacked the blocks with great concentration, intent on making the perfect fort, and was not watching his sister as she neared. Still crawling, she let out a burst of speed and the fort fell down.

Jeffrey was patient, putting up with the fascination his baby sister had with his toys, but there was a limit. "Daddy, make her leave me alone. They're my toys." Jeffery was beginning to whine. It was the first sign that he had been bothered enough and would take matters into his own hands soon. Jackson picked up his squirming daughter. Jeffery deserved a break. For a five year old, he was being very good.

He went back to his fort. He was very careful to build it like the one Calla had ruined, except this one was taller. He giggled as he finished it and then carefully smashed it back into a pile of blocks. Then he gathered them up, again, and started on a bridge. Carl wished he could enjoy the wait as much.

Calla, after initial struggles, had curled into a ball and fallen asleep. Jackson checked the time. They had been there nearly an hour. Normally, Cheryl would have taken the children, but she was sick, and he had used his day off to exchange the winter clothes his children had outgrown.

Calla had been a month old baby when they had been issued, and her winter clothes wouldn't fit now. Both his children were taller than average, and in a few months, when they were really needed, they would be too small. Jeffrey was in the midst of a growth spurt, and nothing he had really fit anymore. Jackson had helped organize this exchange, where parents would bring their children and the clothes that they could not wear to trade for what would fit. He had just not counted on it taking so long.

Calla had snuggled into the crook of his arm, and it was growing numb. Jeffrey, ignoring the little boy who was watching him, had gone back to forts. This one was very intricate, and Jeffrey was hunched over his pile of blocks oblivious to everything.

The din in the enclosed space of high pitched voices at play was getting to him. He wished it had been warm enough to have an outside play area, but the weather had started to turn cold quite suddenly. It was supposed to be a quick process, but it was taking much longer per family to finish. Most of the adults looked bored. The children were taking advantage of all the playmates and the level of noise grew in proportion to the time they'd waited.

There were others as well, with nothing to exchange. A woman sitting near him, watching little Calla fondly, was notably pregnant. He thought she was on one of the food crews. He looked at little Calla, who had been born the day after their arrival, and wondered what sort of life awaited the children born here, and if they would ever know a different one.

He was jarred out of his melancholy by his name, called loudly but still barely audible. Jeffrey had just finished smashing his latest castle, and was still gathering his blocks. Calla was comfortable and started to fuss when he moved her. The woman smiled, and offered to hold the sack for the blocks as Jeffrey slowly found them. Eventually, Jackson and his two unhappy children, and two bags of clothes made it to the exchange. Later in the winter, when the cold hit in earnest, he would think of the noise and the blocks, and cherished the memory.

o0o

Catherine could feel the floor shake as he was pacing, the frustration still bubbling out. She guessed the news was bad. He had gone from taking the job to have something to do, to feeling a little bit apart of the system, to hating to get out of bed in the morning. The reason had a name. Mc Farrin. Some had stolen his nickname and turned it around and whispered warnings of a macattack.

It was worse because those outside the system didn't see the turmoil going on, especially in Supply, the biggest and busiest of the Departments, but not the only one where macattacks struck. The people at the desks were caught in the middle. They knew without reports they would be surrounded by Jem'Hadar. So they worked and did as the conquer ordered. But outside all the rest saw were uniforms. Everyone in Supply had been issured a new work coat recently. It wasn't much different than the generic sort of uniform clothes the staff everywhere wore, but it was just different enough it was easily noticed. Keeping it clean was required. Wearing it along with the pin was expected.

Nobody in Supply dared leave off the pin now on their time off or someone was noticed watching them. Or their reports were taken and checked daily and publically. They had been labeled as holding a potential "bad attitude" and dark stories floated around as to how far that went. He had two new coats, as most did now, so there was no excuse for messing it up. As he worked two split shifts, and in-between it was frowned upon to change, he practically lived in them now.

The day had finally ended. The nurse had done a quick check of the baby that day and pronounced her fine and she was hoping that at least *that* would help. But he went into the bedroom to change when he got home, and the amount of time it took him to come out showed how bad a day it had been. This was had been way high on the scales.

Finally, he pushed open the door, dressed in the most casual of all he possessed. But she noticed he still wore the pin. Maybe he felt as if someone would peak in the tiny excuse for a window and report him. She tried to get him to sit but he just resumed pacing.

"Enough," she said. "Your going to shake this thing off it's foundation."

He stopped, signed, and collapsed in their big chair. It had arrived after his first promotion and she hated that was how they got it. But that didn't stop her from lounging in it when she fell into Tessie inspired nap times.

"Sisko said no," he said.

Everyone in Supply had been hoping, after word of the macplan had leaked. He or his minions could still look them over, but would be moved out of Supply and to Security, where he belonged. Others had more dark suggestions about that but only uttered them carefully and even then looked around to see who might be in range. Maybe Sisko and his staff were no more anxious to be watched constantly than Supply.

"It's worse," he continued, standing up and pacing again, speaking between burst of stomps. "She's put him in his own sub-department. All the training people in every department are directly under him now. They don't report to the department they work in, but to *him*. Today when they'd announced it I don't think I heard a single word uttered all day. Never know what counts as bad attitude now."

He meant after the boxes and the test. Now, they were all terrified the skies would rain Jem'Hadar. The only way to express it was towards what or whom you could see. The dispised Mac was the target of choice, now even more than Sisko or his top layer. Even more than Willman and his mini-dictatorship. The macspies could be anywhere, or at least the increasingly paranoid mind wandered that direction. At least those held prisoner at the supply desks had reason for their paranoia.

He stomped a bit more, then finally collapsed back in the chair. Holding out his arms she snuggled next to him. Outside, the wind was blowing. They had to get dinner but he'd have to change. Maybe it was cold enough he could just wear the newly issued staff coat and leave it on inside. Wrapping arms around him he shifted her where he could feel the bump that was his daughter.

"I used to work with a few Romulans. It was unoffical, but then half my job was, too. I always used to wonder why they looked at all the shadows, just in case. You could tell they picked each word carefully and one of them was treated so cautiously. They never said, I suppose they couldn't, but I figured out he must be Tal'Shair." He rubbed her belly and she could feel the resignation he was letting banish the anger since there was no place for that in this world . . . either? "After awhile, I acted the same way. One of them had kids. I kept wondering what it would be like to grow up under a dictatorship. I guess this one gets to find out." He rubbed Tessie and she couldn't stop the tears. For a few minutes they lay together allowing out some of the pain, but he pulled away.

"I'm not hungry," she said.

"Doesn't matter. We don't show up I'll hear. Who knows, maybe someone will wonder if we have food hidden, since I'm with supply. But I gotta change."

"I don't care," she said, the tears still flowing. She tried to stop them but the hormones were flowing too fully for that.

"Like I said, doesn't matter. We go. Nobody cares of a mom to be is crying but if you can . . . "

She sat up, dabbling her eyes. "I'll try," she mumbled.

But he made it worse. "We hear his "special" reports are going to Security and he's going to be meeting with them. She's doing an end run around Sisko but then she's an old friend so she can. From there they go to Sisko and from there . . ." his voice faded and he did not finish the sentence.

She didn't have to change and sat, trying to compose herself while he did, but their passes, this now being past cerfew, were sitting on the table and she looked away. His shift would change soon back to where they didn't have to take the spooky walk through an empty area each night, empty except for Security who checked the passes each time they discovered them. It was too much a reminder of the real world they were building in the offices, the one they didn't need the Jem'Hadar to make the an enemy.

She was tired. It had been a long day already and she just wanted to go to bed. But the department standard was that *families* eat together. And if it meant past cerfew excursions then it did. But she lay her hand on little Tessie, loving her deeply, and at the same time wishing she had never been. She would have to cope with this hidious new world, but Tessie would never know anything different and the gap between them would be as wide as the one between she and her own father after all.

o0o

***Bashir on two weeks restreiction, Lonnie one week

The staff meeting was brief that morning, Willman hurrying through everything but the supply reports, which he emphasized with care. He didn't mention anyone's attitude, though he was clearly in a bad mood. Finally the meeting was over, with two exceptions. "Bashir and Broadman, you are not dismissed."

They were sitting in the back of the room, and this was not a surprise. The room cleared quickly and they were alone with Willman. He looked up and studied his victims. Lonnie was upset, but hiding it better. Bashir was barely concealing the his resentment. He began reading from a prepared document.

"This is an official disciplinary action, presided over by Dr. Leonard Willman, department head, Medical unit. In violation of department guidelines regarding use of medications, a procedure was performed by Dr. Julian Bashir and Medical Assistant Lonnie Broadman which did not meet the necessary requirements for that procedure. Following the testimony of the principles, disciplinary action shall be detailed." He looked up at them. Lonnie was stunned, but Bashir was clearly angry. "Broadman, first." She stood, a little shakily, and came forward, standing before his desk. She had a written statement prepared which she handed to him. He read the short paper while she waited. "You believed that the patient was in sufficient distress that the procedure was justified, despite the scarcity of the medication used."

"I did, Sir," she said nervously, intimidated by the tone.

"And was this belief based upon your own experience or that of Dr. Bashir?"

She paused. "Both, Sir."

"Did you have any previous experience in the procedure?" he asked, watching Bashir's rising resentment.

"No, I did not."

He noticed her quick glance toward the back of the room. "Sit down." She returned to her seat still shaking a little.

"Your turn Bashir." He rose, walking slowly without the crutches, limping slightly, concentrating on each step. He stopped where Lonnie had stood. He did not look at Willman. Bashir put his written statement on the table. He stared at the wall above Willman's head while Willman read the short statement. "Do you intend to stand by this statement?" asked Willman, sharply.

"I do," said Bashir, then, almost as an afterthought, "Sir."

Willman did not appreciate the tone. "At the time was the patient's life at risk?" he asked patiently.

"No," replied Bashir, "But in my medical judgement, the procedure was justified."

"You are aware of department regulations in regards to scarce drugs?" Willman watched the younger doctor closely.

"I am. In this case the patient would have been put at risk by not performing the procedure," Bashir said, obviously confident about his judgement.

"In your view. But you do admit violating department rules." Willman spoke slowly, emphasizing each word.

"Yes. In this case the rules are wrong." He said it defiantly, daring Willman to prove him wrong.

Willman had heard all he was going to listen to. He put down his pen and looked up. "Dr. Bashir, you are put on restrictions for a period of two weeks, during which you will be inside your quarters alone if you are not on duty. Your meals will be in the form of standard rations. You will, furthermore, be sent to Captain Sisko for a discussion of you general attitude as soon as possible. If your attitude does not improve, you'll be put on long term restrictions. Do you understand?" Willman spoke slowly and clearly.

Bashir said nothing at first. "I will abide by the restrictions," he said, not bothering to hide the bitterness.

Willman looked at him. "Doctor, if you have differences of opinion you discuss them with me, you do not take your own actions. Is this also understood?"

"Entirely," said Bashir, still openly defiant.

"Broadman, you are on restrictions as well, same conditions, for a period of one week. This starts now. I want you in your quarters in fifteen minutes."

"Yes, Sir," she said, waiting for him to let her go.

"You may go now," he said. Looking at Bashir, he said, "stay where you are. I didn't say you could sit." Bashir stood, trying to balance his weight on the good leg. The door closed behind her as Lonnie retreated.

"As to you, I'm issuing a warning. Either your attitude improves drastically and soon or you will be very tired of looking at the inside of you quarters. And I am interested in your medical views should you take them thought proper channels, but any further procedural infractions will be dealt with in a similar fashion as you attitude problem. As of now you are off-duty and will return to your quarters until your told it's time to go see Sisko."

He could tell how much the leg was hurting by the limp, but Bashir was still mad enough he didn't seem to notice it too much. He hoped a couple of lonesome weeks would correct the problem. They needed him. And all he was going to get with that attitude was trouble.

o0o

Bashir went to his quarters, as ordered, and collapsed on the bed. He had been there since his return, ignoring the "lunch" he was brought. He was angry at everyone. It was perhaps easiest to be angry at Willman. He was personally responsible for this. Julian still believed that he had made the right decision, and would do it again. Willman was so blinded by his rules that he could not see when they would do harm. There had been a lot of things he held other views about, but they had not been worth the risk. This was. Willman would never see his point of view, but it didn't matter. The patient came first.

But as he lay there, wondering what he was going to do with himself for all that time, he saw that Willman was just a convent target. Willman was trying to do the best he could with what he had, but it was Them that had created this nightmare. Willman disagreed about philosophy, but he cared. They did not. And yet the fury he felt for the Dominion was trapped within. He could defy Willman's policy, and spend a little time on restrictions, but They could not be openly defied. The only targets were those, like Willman, who had to live with the restrictions and enforce the results. It had made him feel better to break a rule, but he knew it wouldn't change anything that mattered.

Except for one. He felt guilty about Lonnie. She would have to spend a week on restrictions because of his decision. If Willman would listen, he would take the responsibility as he should have from the start.

Eventually he got up and tried the tasteless cube of chewy something. It wasn't as bad as he thought it would be but he was certain that when the two weeks were over, he'd never want to see one in that form again.

o0o

It was late afternoon before someone knocked on his door to escort him to Sisko's office. He almost brought the crutches. But for his own pride he left them at home.

He was depressed by then, not only over the punishment, but the reasons behind it. His anger had already gone, overwhelmed by reality.

His leg ached from the walk all the way to Sisko's office, and his mood had not improved from the exercise. Taking a deep breath, and identifying himself, he knocked softly and waited until he was ask to enter. One of Sisko's aides finally opened the door and told him to go in.

He had not seen Sisko in a long time, and remembered the man he'd known on the station. He'd received a few lectures then. In his mind that was what he would get today. But the man sitting at the desk looked tired and used, and haunted by desperation. Struck by the difference, the last of his anger vanished.

He knew he had to wait and be asked to sit, and glanced at the chairs in front of him. He didn't have quite the confidence to ask. "I've been hearing some unsettling things, Doctor. Dr. Willman seems concerned about your attitude."

"He has discussed the problem with me, Sir," he said.

"And apparently you haven't been listening."

He almost sounded like the commander of DS9 for a moment. He seemed to be expecting an answer. "No, I haven't, Sir. Not until quite recently."

"I remember a few times that you went against my advise," said Sisko softly, but then his voice hardened again. "However this is not Deep Space 9 and this situation is not of our own personal choosing. In this case, you are a member of Dr. Willman's staff and it should not be necessary for me to remind you that you are required to obey the orders of your direct superior. Do you understand that, Doctor Bashir?" The last part was spoken slowly with Sisko watching him closely.

He took a deep breath. "Yes, Sir, I do." He nearly said Captain. He had been warned about that.

Very sternly, Sisko continued. "I certainly hope so. I don't think you understand how dangerous this situation could become. Your attitude creates a danger for both yourself and your department, and that is unacceptable. You've had time to adjust, given your long hospitalization, but that is up. Either your attitude and actions will improve, or you will be put on restrictions until they do. Is that clear, Doctor?"

He didn't think he could stand to see that much of his quarters. "Very clear, Sir."

o0o

Tom Rafferson watched the doctor leave the office, limping badly, but clearly stunned by the lecture. There hadn't been many talks of that sort, and Rafferson hoped that had been the last. Each time, Sisko had gone into a depression, and his staff kept out of his way for the next few days.

Rafferson had just closed the door when Sisko came out of his office. He looked devastated. Rafferson remembered that this one had been on the command staff at the station, and knew him well. It must have been harder than the others. He had a stack of documents in his hand.

"Tom, I need these run over to Medical. Could you? Just take off for the day. There isn't much going right now." Sisko's voice was as calm as ever, but very quiet, and there was so much sadness in his eyes.

Rafferson took the papers. "Certainly, Sir. I can come back if you'd like." Tom kept his voice as normal as possible.

"No, that's fine. They go to Willman, but whoever's in his office will do. And, thank you, Tom." He looked as if all he wanted was an empty office. Tom grabbed his coat, and left.

He didn't like going to the hospital. It was impossible to pretend there, with the odd sectioned areas and the scattered beds. He found Willman's office and handed the papers to the Bajoran woman sitting there and hurried out of the area.

It was chilly, and most of the people on the upper deck had left. But he noticed someone he knew, just sitting by himself, and thought of Sisko and his friend. Zale had been one of Vance's chief aides, and had been one of the first to quit when Vance had refused to cooperate. He and Rafferson no longer spoke.

Rafferson rarely had the chance to take a leisurely dinner, and today he would, so instead of avoiding Zale he tried to hurry past him.

"Still selling out, I see. Nice little pin." Zale's voice trailed off as Rafferson stopped and turned back towards him.

Normally he would have ignored it, but remembering Sisko's devastated face, and the doctor's stunned look he couldn't today. He turned and looked at Zale. "I suppose if Mr. Vance had stuck around you might have been one of the sellouts too."

Zale stared at him. "Vance," he said with distaste, "is too scared to open his mouth. He's worse than Sisko. He knew better."

This surprised Rafferson. "And I suppose your not scared."

"I wouldn't call myself one of the sheep like most of these people. But then I'm not one of the wolves either." He sounded smug, thought Rafferson. Odd, he though.

He was getting chilly. He wanted to get to dinner before the line got too long. Sisko didn't approve of his people getting a quick meal with their pins. Rafferson looked at Zale, feeling rather sad. "Live in fantasy land, then. I'm cold and going to get dinner."

Zale didn't reply, just stared at Rafferson. When Rafferson was almost past hearing it, he chuckled. Rafferson felt sorry for him, but it was cold and he liked the idea of taking his time for once and the chance to relax for a little while, but Zale was acting rather odd and he hoped he wouldn't dash everyone's chance of a little moment of normalcy forever.

end, Legacy, Year 1, part 1-4, Chapter 16


	18. Part 4Interesting Times Chapter 17

First a note. I have been working on the next year of this story, and into the one after that to get some perspective on things and have added a few thing to these last chapters of this section. The story has taken some turns I didn't anticipate but its better thanks to that. However, I will be re-adding these chapters to the story and should have sufficent to start on the next year by then. So thank you to those who have been looking.

The title for Year 1 is to be Year 1 – Conception, as their new society is born out of the ruins of the old.

LEGACY

An Alternate History of the Dominion War

Year 1

Part 4- Interesting Times

Chapter 17

It was a very special harvest. It would be small, but it was the first crop ever grown on Cyrus. And yet it was vastly important. It proved the process Vance and Blanchard had created worked on the least productive of soils. Justin watched with bittersweet satisfaction. It was a great achievement, but few would even know it existed. The deep satisfaction that it worked was, at least now, enough for him. But he knew that Walter would never share any of the success. If the recognition was taken away any personal achievement was unimportant. He had run away from every part of the dream when that became impossible. Justin almost wished he'd met Jaro all those years before instead of Walter. It was possible they would never have founded Cyrus without Walter's ambition, but he found he no longer really cared about the glory. Here, any success, no matter how small or hidden, was a victory.

For something else mattered far more. He and Jaro had not risked everything so they might be praised. It was a small victory over despair. The little field with its rich harvest was just a lifeline. It could replace the dried food used that year. But even the next crop, with twice the ground, would not feed them. And despite the temptation, none would be used immediately. Every bit of edible harvest would be dried to be saved.

He knew Sisko was scared and understood. Their test had changed everyone's lives, and when he saw the glum faces eating their meals there was a small guilt. But it was pushed aside when he remembered why they'd taken the risk. If it worked it was *possible* that they might be allowed some day to use it. It might not grant them freedom, but they would be able to feed themselves.

The crop would be different, nothing like the one being harvested in the little field. Their diet and tastes would change as the previously unknown gifts they had ignored were cultured. Now, he could hardly stand to eat his breakfast without taking it to his lab. The plants that already grew on Cyrus were so diverse and promising that he and Jaro had not even looked at the notes on the teraforming project. They spent all day writing up the report Sisko would need to grant them permission to plant their garden, and he even dreamed of the field swaying with the heavy fruits of the desert plants which guided their growth based on rain.

They had plenty of water, and it would make the difference.

He watched the day's work with pride, not only because he and Walter had made it possible but for those who worked with such dedication today.

It was a community event, and everyone who wanted to help was welcome. It would have been much simpler to use a smaller workforce, but it wouldn't have *belonged* to all of them that way. Some worked in the field, pulling the fruits and vegetable and greens from the plants. Next to the field drying tables had been built, over the terraformed area, and another large group of people were gathered there ready to prepare the harvest for preservation. Then, when it was done, another crew waited ready to properly package the food so it would last. No one was allowed to work on more than one crew.

When the whole harvest was done, the ground would be dug under and the unusable parts of the plants buried to decay and enrich the soil.

Several of the new Bajoran residents had offered to assist. Justin found them most welcome, for Bajor was one place where the sort of farming they would be forced into was necessary and understood.

The field was little, but somehow it was putting them together as a community. Everyone who wanted to could own a little of the accomplishment. It was a small beacon of hope in a world where there was little that any of them could do to make their own future.

Justin stood on the rolling hills overlooking the field, permitting himself to dream. Next fall, there would be twice as much land. Perhaps, if luck was with them in the years after there might be much more land, and a rich crop of native plants. He knew what they'd done was a risk, but would do it all over again for the dream.

Jaro had been below, taking samples of the terraformed area. Justin's earlier examination had shown the rock hard chunks of even a month ago were softening to a clay-like texture, and he knew that by spring they would have crumbled into a rich, if virgin, soil needing only the organic additions. It would have to be dug up and amended first, but that was simple.

But Jaro had followed him up to the hill, and a little of his dream was dampened.

Jaro looked over the valley, and shrugged. "We will need many more shovels," he said.

Justin suddenly realized it wouldn't be as simple as he visualized. The ground would be hard, and the shovels would be most inefficient. He hadn't considered the loss of the automated plow/mixer. The field could make for a very rich harvest, but it was going to be very hard work to accomplish that.

Of course, the workers were available. For this field, there had been too many volunteers. But next year, would they be as anxious to work hours at a time to have it ready to plant in time for the crops to grow and be harvested? Now, this was a treat. After a few days, digging up rock hard soil and breaking it up, soil meant for machines to work, they would have had enough. But they would have to work until finished even if they were tired or wanted to go. Rules would be imposed. There would no longer be an option. Like the mud channel, it would lose the inspiration and simply become hard labor.

He didn't want to condemn his people to a life of drudgery just to survive. But he was afraid it would come to that.

*His* people, he considered. Jaro was just as much a part of this place now as he or Walter. The field was full of people who'd lived in space a year before and yet they were a part of it too. The strangers who had dropped out of the sky were no longer interlopers. This was their home now. He wanted a better one for all of them.

He'd forgiven them for changing all his plans. They'd brought Jaro and the incredible luck that had inspired their new improved method.

Jaro fumbled with his shirt, one sleeve rolled up and the other down. He stared at the fields. "When its ready, how hard is the soil?" asked Jaro speculatively.

"Firm." He looked at the people below. "It's going to be hard work to get it prepared."

Jaro sat on the specimen case as if it was a chair. He stared making shapes with his hands, lost in thought. "We had a primitive sort of plow on Bajor, something you could make out of wood if necessary, but it worked. It had big wheels. You could push it easily, even over rough ground. When the Cardassians left us with land nobody else wanted that's all we had." He stood again, shifting around as if he was too restless. "I believe we could make one that is a little stronger with what we have here, and it would make all these dreams a little more possible. This winter that must be a priority. We may even be able to use the native soil for additional fields."

Ancient style farming equipment wasn't a part of Justin's basic experience, but he was willing to learn. He looked at the Bajoran, and smiled at his friend. As far as he could remember, he had never really had one before. It made the moments of success so much better to have someone to share them with.

"Yes," he said enthusiastically. "Perhaps you could make a drawing of it. I'd like all of this to be quite official, of course."

Jaro didn't smile much, but he was clearly excited. "I have already. Perhaps we could discuss it over dinner."

"Yes. Certainly," said Justin. If only Walter had understood him so well, he thought, they might have already made some sort of difference.

o0o

There was a tap on his door, and Willman called out, "Come in." Bashir stood a little nervously just inside the office. Willman indicated a chair. "Please sit down, Doctor." He noted the pronounced limp, as Bashir put most of the weight on his good leg. He also noted the look of relief when he sat and took all the weight off of it. "Doctor, I'm very pleased with your work. You and Miss Broadman have made an excellent team. I wanted you to know that for the immediate future, I intend to continue with this arrangement. However, you will be working in the afternoons as well. I assume you're knowledgeable about lab procedures?"

"Yes, I am Sir."

Willman gathered that Bashir had decided to behave. "Good. I have several . . . oddities that I've been tracking. As you've done research, I think you would be the best one to follow through on this project. I just don't have the time anymore."

Bashir seemed genuinely pleased. "Thank you, Sir. Could you tell me about these oddities?"

"Not at the moment. I'd have to show you. Tomorrow, perhaps. But there is another matter. How bad is you leg?"

Willman watched his face and could see the defenses rising. "I manage Sir."

He could tell that Bashir was not going to say anything more unless forced to, and until it began to interfere with his work Willman wasn't willing to do that. "If you have a lot of pain, please let me know. There are a few things we can try that should help."

Bashir said calmly, the calm concealing a massive storm, "If it becomes necessary. I will tell you then, Sir."

Willman knew how bad the pain must be, and how deeply he resented him, and was certain that unless he could not stand to walk on the leg, Bashir would never say a word. He had learned to behave, but not changed his mind.

He pulled out several cards. "These are for you."

Bashir took them, almost reluctantly. "Thank you, Sir, but . . . . "

"Lunch and dinner passes. You won't be on the list. Go have a good meal. You're off restrictions a day early. Go visit you friends. Miss Broadman will be glad to have a dinner companion as well. I'm assuming that this reward for good behavior will continue to be earned."

"You won't be disappointed Sir," said Bashir. Willman was sure he wouldn't. Just the same, he was impressed with the young doctor, and wished his behaving was based on something other than fear.

He didn't want to be the enemy. Bashir acted as if he was, but had to obey. That wasn't the point. The enemy had been far too remote, and Blanchard's little test should have left them with Jem'Hadar everywhere. Bashir should be able to figure that out. But they would come. And when they did, the discipline his staff had become used to might save their lives.

Willman knew that he might not survive. Or perhaps, the price of survival might mark him with the same stamp as the enemy. It might be up to Bashir and Lonnie to make up the difference. He knew, faced with an enemy Bashir already knew, that he'd behave. Then, he'd be the one to set the example.

He would understand better when he saw the "oddities" in the lab.

But tonight, he wanted him to have one last evening to relax before dropping into a nightmare.

o0o

Bashir first returned to his quarters to change back into his rumpled jacket. He put his staff pin on his shirt He felt more relaxed in the other jacket. And on the shirt, it almost covered the pin.

But he wore it. Willman would hear if he didn't and put him back on restrictions again.

He used he crutches. He'd managed the days without them so far because of the restrictions, but the walk to the warehouse for dinner was too much. He didn't care if Willman noticed and complained. He already knew how bad the pain was or he wouldn't have asked about the leg.

It was his doing. All his treatments had damaged it beyond repair. If he thought Willman had anything that would really help he'd ask. But he already knew what was available, and none of it would be enough. If he had to live with the pain, it was a little satisfying to think that Willman might feel responsible.

He was looking forward to the afternoon. He might not be able to come again, but he wanted one last time with his friends.

The line for food was short, and he turned in the unused cakes. He didn't much care how well seasoned the soup was that day. It had to be better than the mushy cakes.

He expected that most of his friends had gone home by then, but to his surprise they were waiting. Lonnie must had slipped over to tell them. Most were busy now, having been absorbed into the various winter preparations after their full medical release. But they still met for lunch, and had come a little later today just to be there.

He forgot Willman for a little while. He was the only one with a pin, but there it didn't matter. Little was said, everyone except him having somewhere to go after lunch, but he looked forward to tomorrow.

After they'd left, he wandered towards the fields and passed Sisko's office. He paused, thinking of the cost Sisko had paid and how badly he was being used. Everyone was being used by Them. He could no longer talk about it. He couldn't deal with the daily reminders anymore if he looked upon the reality. But his anger at Them was still strong, and he blamed them for the sadness in Miles face, the fear in Lonnie's, and the stranger inside that office. Even Willman, he thought reluctantly, was Their making. He pulled out the dinner pass, and thought to himself he should give the man a chance some day.

He continued on, finally making it to the hills overlooking the fields. The plants were gone now, harvested and stored, but he wanted to see them anyway. He had looked forward to the harvest, but had been under restrictions then and missed it entirely. Eventually he'd forgive Willman, but not yet. He found a place out of the breeze and watched the people working on the soil, placing a layer of native plant parts, cut up into pieces, over the entire field, both the completed and the still developing sides. Lonnie had told him about it at a quiet meeting when nobody was about. It was hoped it would make reworking the soil next year easier. It was a part of the various activities connected with the coming winter.

As he watched the people below dumping the crates of materials, he considered the planet, rocky and marginal, and the hope the field represented, now gone. Someone had been trying to recreate that hope with the experiment. He understood how they had endangered everyone, and how unforgiving They would be, but understood the experimenters as well. He only wished he had the nerve to fight back as they had. Someone would find a way to strike back, he thought, and his certainty of that was the only thing that made life tolerable.

It was getting late. Dinner would be soon enough, and he didn't need the walk. He rested on the hill, watching as everybody worked and wishing that he could join them. Even if it was hard work, he'd prefer that over the battle with pain that had become his life.

o0o.

He was waiting in the dining area when Lonnie arrived for dinner, and surprised her by having already gotten it. He was already half done with his. "Sorry, I couldn't wait," he muttered between bites.

She almost smiled. "I know. I had thirds the first night back here."

"I didn't know the stuff could taste so good," he said between sips.

She didn't reply, scooping out the best parts of the soup. "They haven't made those steaks in a while. I kept thinking of them most of the time while I gummed down the thing. Why do they have to be so chewy?"

He was done with his, and it wasn't time for seconds. "I don't know. That was one of the better things about them. If they had just a little more taste . . . . " He looked at her, and shrugged. "The truth is, it wouldn't have mattered how good they tasted if I had to eat them all alone."

She smiled nervously. "Or how bad if you didn't."

They didn't say much the rest of the evening, but she got seconds for both of them. He realized he didn't really notice much about the crowd that night. They made it back to their quarters just before curfew. He had the first good sleep he'd had in several weeks.

He already knew that tomorrow was going to be a hard day.

o0o

Dr. Julian Bashir was in his element. Despite the antiquated equipment, and the consolations with Willman, he felt entirely whole in the lab. His leg was propped up on a chair with a pillow under it, and he had brought his crutches should he need them. But the work was enough to get his mind entirely off the pain. There was a puzzle to solve, and he was so drawn into the mystery that Lonnie had had to drag him to dinner the night before.

For the past few months, Willman had been screening blood samples for signs of infection, in hopes of warding them off before they became serious. But in the last few weeks there had been anti-bodies present against something, even if the patients were fine. Finding what was causing the anti-bodies was Bashir's task.

In a way his life was coming together better than he could have expected. During the mornings, he and Lonnie worked together, as they had been before, but there was a difference. Having let go of his resentment, he was learning to deal with problems within their limitations. Lonnie knew much more about the practical side of the new medications and treatments than he did, and he listened to her. They discussed the cases like equals, and he understood why Willman was teaching her what she needed to know. It wouldn't be long before she could handle many cases on her own.

They ate lunch together now as well, usually with his friends. They were all familiar with her, and they were comfortable together. He and Lonnie would pursue their individual jobs during the afternoon, and meet again for dinner, as privately as was possible. He had come to think of her as a necessary part of his life. The only time he forgot all the rest was in the afternoons, lost in his research.

The door opened and he glanced up, noting it was Willman. Katre had been released that day, and a blood sample of hers was being analyzed. What he found was most interesting.

"Anything?" asked Willman.

"It's not Cardassian. Look at this." He indicated the setup. Willman peered through the goggles. "The rounded antibodies are those formed against the Cardassian virus. They are very different than the others."

Willman studied them carefully. "Too different. If we could do a DNA analysis I bet it would back us up. So what do you think it is?"

"That's a very good question. It could be local, something we mutated with the chemicals or other changes brought in the last few years. Or it could have been imported. It's just not like anything I've ever seen before."

Willman looked at him curiously. "Imported?"

Bashir nodded. "The virus that's causing this has already hidden in the body. No telling when it will go off. But we need more diverse blood samples than just patients or staff. We need people who haven't been near here."

Willman looked preoccupied. "There is only one source of an imported virus as it currently stands. Is that what you are implying?"

"Yes." Bashir closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the blight and the victory of one child who did not carry it. But so much had already been destroyed. Was it to be that way with them too? "It would be their style," he said bitterly.

Willman straighten up and looked at his staff doctor. "Okay, this stays quiet, between us. Understand? Not even Lonnie knows."

"Certainly. Can we get more blood samples?"

"I'll do my best. We'll have to come up with a decent reason to take blood. I don't want to alarm people." Willman sat on the nearest stool. His face fell, the stern man falling away, replaced with the haggard look of a man who was deeply afraid. "Keep up the good work. I need to know if the antibody count goes up. Will we have an epidemic on our hands?" Willman had dropped all pretense of authority. He just looked scared and worried.

"If what I think is true, we already have one." Bashir stared at him, just as scared, but aware he may have seen the real Willman for the first time.

o0o

The bird sat atop the tallest tree in the park, body arched toward the sky in full song. The brown and black body, sleek and powerful, was singing loudly. He heard it in his head, the five short whistles followed by a series of longer, more piercing sounds. Then the bird resumed the menagerie of chirps and calls it made every morning. James remembered perfectly the song of the mocking bird that had lived next to his window and sang every morning, the song that had welcomed the day for him for so long. The park was full of people, and the grass and trees were in place, even the small pond that glistened along the side. But it was too silent. There were no birds. James missed the sounds of birds, and the first was the mocking bird that still lived in his memory.

It was late and he finished his nightly routine, and went to bed. He slept well, as he always did, feeling secure in his warm, comforting world. He awoke to the sound of the mocking bird, singing its varied song at his window. As he followed Morris across the landscape, which was green and lush, with tall trees shading the buildings, he heard the mocking bird's song, singing alone. James ate his breakfast, preoccupied, but very happy, looking forward to the day's end so he might make more birds. Robins, he thought, would be next. And then a knot of finches chattering away in a tree. He finished, and followed Morris to work, where he stood by the window and heard the sounds of the children and the breezes, and the birds. The robins and finches were faint and far away, but as the hours ticked away and he filed and cross referenced as efficiently as possible so it might be done sooner, he could hear them in his head, not yet real but aching to be given life.

o0o

Morris grabbed James from his back room retreat and declared it was time for lunch. He wasn't so worried about James now. He had not seemed so withdrawn. He was always waiting for breakfast, dressed and impatient to leave. He was ultra efficient at his job, and when Sisko had requested a way to cross reference various records, James had devised one on his own. James had moved his desk, where he sorted out his work, under the window, and he kept it as neat as his clothes and his room. He didn't talk much, but he did listen. Morris believed that James had finally started to deal a little better with life.

It had, unexpectedly, warmed up again, and the outside lunch had been reopened for the warm weather. Morris sat with James and a few others, in the nearly deserted deck eating their early lunch. James was gazing around the square, half-smiling to himself. Randy had noticed how much better he liked eating outside. It was such a nice day and everyone was enjoying the warmth and looked happier.

Still, James seemed a little more quiet than normal. He was not paying much attention to his food, and staring oddly at the shadows cast by the buildings and shade coverings. He was almost transfixed by one spot, but there was nothing to see there. He still sipped his food, but slowly, as if he hardly noticed what he was doing. Leaning forward, he was looking at something only he could see.

Morris was very worried about James's odd behavior. He couldn't take his eyes off him. Then, James suddenly stood up and smiled, clearly listening to something that made him very happy. Randy rose from the table, and walked to his friend, looking at him confused. "Is something wrong? Are you OK James?"

James looked at him, clearly excited. "It's the birds. They sound so beautiful."

Morris was stunned. "But James. There are no birds on Cyrus." James just stood and listened to the birds, and wandered towards his room. He didn't even notice that Randy Morris was following.

o0o

All morning they had been calling to him. From the window was a distant chattering, the mocking bird's varied song louder and more real. He had hurried through his work, counting the hours, and when Morris called him to lunch he had almost been reluctant to go. He wanted to be done when he left, to go and make the birds. He felt their pull so strongly that he could not think of anything else.

But when they had come to the square, which to James had trees and grasses, he could feel their calling him, and their song became louder and angry. He could see the tree where they should be, and hear their loud demands echo in his head, and yet he had not painted them. He knew he could not let them be real yet. But they were so inviting, he could not stop himself from imagining them there.

And then, he saw them. They were no longer impossibly loud, and the angry chattering was gone. They twittered and moved in the tree feeding on the gnats that swarmed around it. And the mocking birds song became joyous and even more alive. He stared at them, consumed with the joy of their existence. He had made them real. He had made their music for all the others to hear.

Morris had come up to him and ask his strange question. Why should the sound of birds be wrong? But he knew what he must do to keep them alive. If he didn't he couldn't go back to the world Morris and the others were part of.

He still needed that world as much as the park and the birds. He must paint them now, not wait until the night came. He forgot his lunch. Moving with purpose he seldom showed, he went straight to his room, to his portal, to make the birds so they would leave him alone.

o0o

Willman glared at his staff, his full displeasure aroused and making the most of it. They were completely quiet. Someone had mishandled a lab specimen, probably due to sloppiness, and could have exposed everyone to what it contained. Only he and Bashir knew what that was. But Bashir had obeyed orders and not said a word.

Willman sat down at his desk and shuffled papers for a short time, letting them stew. He had never been more serious about anything than he was about this. The virus had been found to be widespread, but handling it directly was risky. Bashir had volunteered to do that. Willman had gained a new respect for the young doctor. But he couldn't let anyone know that now.

They were shifting around uncomfortably. He decided the time was right. He stood up unexpectedly and stepped in front of his desk, standing so he could look down on them. "I'm not going to ask who did this, because it doesn't matter. The next time it will be somebody else. The most important thing is that all of you remember that there is not going to be a next time. We can't afford sloppy handling of infectious materials in a small hospital like this. We have no safety margin. Therefore, all of you will be given the chance to think about this incident for the next week. All medical staff, regardless of position, are on restrictions for one week. You have one hour to get meals. Otherwise you are on duty or in your quarters. And as far as meals go, there will be no taking staff privileges unless they are actually warranted. I have asked for an accounting of who takes them and when so I do mean this. Dismissed. Out."

He watched as Bashir left, limping notably again. He looked miserable. But then, only Willman knew how much reason he had to be.

o0o

Lonnie caught up with him near his quarters, where he had gone to retrieve his crutches. She stood outside his open door. "We might as well get lunch now. It's a little early but I'm not taking staff privilege."

"Sure," he said, hopping out the door balanced on one leg.

She shut the door for him. "You need to talk to him about this. He could help."

"Someday, maybe." He knew he didn't dare, now. He didn't want anyone to know that his opinion of Willman had changed, because Willman would be honor bound to treat him if he did. And he agreed that the terrible secret they shared should not get out. Willman had not yet told Sisko. He wanted definite proof first. Bashir was worried and upset, but not for the reasons Lonnie assumed. He hated having to let her since she so wanted him to understand Willman.

It was warm for once, and lunch was being served on the upper deck again. They found a place that was reasonably private. Friends would be there in a little while, but for a moment they had a little privacy. They got their meals quickly, and were prepared to take advantage of the full hour they were allotted.

She had been watching him for a few minutes when she stopped eating and looked him in the eyes. "Look, I know you didn't do anything, but I really do understand why he did this. So should you."

He wasn't sure what to say. He more than agreed with her. But he couldn't, openly, say so. "I'll live with it." he said, thinking of the depth of the anger at Them he felt at that moment. Lonnie again misinterpreted it, as he'd hoped.

"I just don't want you to get into trouble." She was clearly worried. He decided to defend himself.

"Do you know how hard it was to get dumped here after months in a nice safe cocoon and then have everyone expect instant acceptance? Oh, I've gotten used it. You don't hear me asking any unwelcome questions anymore or attracting unwanted attention. I'm not blind. Look, you knew him before. You remember him from then. I didn't. I don't even think the feeling is personal. But there has to be someone to be mad at." He let out just a trace of the anger he felt for Them, and Lonnie was suddenly very quiet. He thought to himself that she did understand.

They hurried their lunches, and with a little time to spare went back to his quarters. He had left his good jacket there and had to change. She followed him in and closed the door.

"You wouldn't want to get us in more trouble," he said, half-serious, half-teasing.

He was sitting on his small couch. She sat next to him. "Look, we have a few minutes before we have to get back. Hold me. Please."

Feeling awkward, he put is arms around her. But she felt very comfortable there. He held her tight and she hugged back. Neither said a word, just gave the other a moment of unconditional support in the face of whatever was to come. They were careful not to be late, but were both sorry to leave.

o0o

Morris watched as James opened his door, not closing it, and followed him inside. James immediately sat on his cushion, and began mixing the paints. He used a very fine brush, and made tiny dabs of paint. But, eventually, as he watched James absolute concentration, he saw birds, many little birds, and watched transfixed at the urgency at which James was painting. He wasted no movement and never took his eyes off the painting. He dabbed with such precision that one might have believed he was possessed. But Morris was also overwhelmed by the intensity of his caring. Each bird was a tiny bit different. Each had a dab of paint that hadn't mixed quite the same. They were individuals. They were real.

He moved closer, James not noticing. He could see them better now, the tiny dabs of paint come to life in his imagination. He wasn't much for nature, preferring the quiet and order of his usual world, but he liked birds. He missed them on DS9 and it occasionally seemed odd how silent Cyrus was. But looking at James delicate work, he could hear the chittering and cooing he remembered as a child, and thought of the huge tree near his window where they had gathered. He smiled a little at the memory, then banished it hastily before the grief came. He could not live in James' world of dreams. James had found a way to live in theirs by making his dreams real. It was all he could do to tear his gaze away from the painting and the painter, backing out of the room and quietly closing the door.

It was as if for a few minutes he had shared the reality that James inhabited, where the trees were green and the grass thick, and the children happy. In some ways he would gladly trade James gentle world for his own nightmares but he could not afford distractions. Maybe James was lucky not to notice. But he lived in such a fragile world, and if it was destroyed he didn't know if James would be able to survive in the other.

o0o

Morris had come back from lunch, and knocked on Sisko's door. Sisko was not particularly busy, and after taking one look at his young aide, told him to sit.

"Sir, it's James. I don't know how to say it but he . . . isn't really with us."

"I don't understand. Is he all right?"

"Well, no, Sir. He was at lunch, and he was just looking at one of the shelters, just staring at it. Then he got up, and just stood there, listening to something, smiling about it. I tried to ask him but he just said the birds sounded so beautiful."

Sisko leaned forward, and whispered, "Birds?"

"That is what he was hearing. He went to his room after that and I watched him paint them on the picture. He was so, well, intense, about it. He wasn't here. He was in that picture. I think I know where he lives. It's inside that park, and I think he's being drawn further and further in all the time."

Sisko just looked at him, and sighed. "I've suspected there was something wrong for some time. Just little things, when he didn't seem to react right. But lately he's been so much better."

"I think he's made us part of his world since he has to deal with us. I don't know what to suggest we do. I don't think he could handle losing that one. Not any more. And I think he needs us too. He seemed like he wanted me to hear the birds, and I swear when I was watching him paint them, I almost could."

Sisko thought about the young man who had lost himself somewhere between fantasy and reality. He wondered if he was only just the one they knew about. But for now, he could think of nothing to do. "Keep an eye on him, Randy. Just watch, act the same, see how he does. I don't think there is much more we can do. I only hope his reality is better than this one."

"Yes, Sir. I'll stick with him. Thank you for understanding."

Sisko watched as the young man was leaving and called him back. Morris stood near the door.

"How may people know about this, ugh, the birds and all?"

Morris said quietly. "You and I, and him of course. The square was almost deserted."

"Let's keep this quiet. If there is nothing we can do, I don't see spreading the news around. Why don't you go check on him." Morris nodded and left the room.

But before Morris returned, James came in himself. He went to his desk and files, and began to finish the work he'd started in the morning. It was as if nothing had happened. If anything, he was more animated and alive than before. As far as anyone could tell, he seemed to be doing a lot better, and nobody would have suspected that his world was a good deal happier than theirs.

o0o

Walking through the room, half full as so many of the crew were at lunch, Duncan could still feel the gloom. He ran an important sub-department now. He attended meetings that full Department heads did and heard the things nobody wanted to know. He'd heard rumors before but the small and important meetings he went to by special invitation did not deal in rumors. Willman had come to the last one, but stayed only briefly. He would not say what was making him so worried, but warned for all departments to be ready for an emergency. The cloud he left behind him put the rest on edge. They all heard of the discipline Willman had applied to his department over a lab specimen. Even to Duncan, it seemed excessive to discipline the entire department. But Willman was issuing a warning to someone and didn't know who it was. For Duncan, uncertainty was the most terrifying thing in the world.

It was worse that he had been requested to see Security again that afternoon. He had thought, originally, that he would be working *with* them, but it usually worked out that he was given just enough information to point his attention but nothing to satisfy his curiosity. He did as told and filed reports, very confidentially, to them and did not hear from them until they needed another favor.

He wondered if this one was to do with Willman or something else equally bad.

But he gathered his things and locked his door and went to the meeting.

It was up the hill, in one of the inner offices in the original complex. Supply had an office there, but most of its work was done in empty space near the warehouses and it wasn't much of a walk. But passing into the small, distinctive square always felt as if he was walking into another world.

They were waiting for him. He was pointed into the room, one of the small conference rooms this time. Sisko's top security people were there. There was a pile of papers covered by a blank piece of paper and not much else. Several of the security people's job, he guessed, was to watch him. It made him uncomfortable, far too close to those he cornered, still, occasionally in *his* office to evaluate.

They were waiting for someone. Nobody said a word. He sat, looking quite composed but trying hard to hide the nervous desire to run. He felt trapped. Normally, there was him and at most two others and the formality of this time made it harder to hide the apprehension.

A tap on the door and a woman came in, human but a civilian. She sat between the two watchers and the second in command finally started the ordeal so it could get over.

"First, anything said here is strictly and absolutely confidential. I know none of you will spread rumors, but if you hear any please report where. This *must* be kept under wraps."

Duncan could feel the walls shrinking but they stopped and sealed them in. Most of what he'd been asked to listen for was eventually known. He gathered *this* would not be.

Everyone mumbled agreement. The lieutenant then addressed Duncan directly. "This is Sarah, and you'll be working with her this time. She isn't to be added to your department or have any ties to it except spending time with you. I suggest you start having her visit the office when you have down time like all the rest of the heads do. Nobody will question it. She will need access to your files but it can't be obvious."

Duncan was astonished. He remembered all the spy novels Julian had poured through in the hospital and how he talked about playing one on the holodeck. Duncan didn't like depending on others and the risk of pretending. He did not want to pretend this Sarah was his girl friend most of all. But something was going on and like Willman, they didn't know who.

"I will, Sir," he said, but his mask slipped a little.

"I don't bite, you know," she said. "You filed some questionables where the totals didn't balance last month. You noticed that there were too many for it to be an accident. I'm here to find the pattern, but I can't be sitting there at a desk with a uniform on and not scare them off."

He nodded, not liking it but understanding. "I have a few more in the last batch. I was getting ready to send them over," he said.

"Don't," said the Bajoran who headed the department. "Sarah was actually recommended by Rom. She will need to look at a lot more of your files than those, just in case. We can't have her carrying out cases of files so she'll have to do it as your visitor. But you have to make *that* believable too.

Duncan hoped he could. He dared not let go of his control or feared the monster would show. There was no place for the monster in this world. "I tend to be a loner, so perhaps you ought to approach me."

"Well, there's dinner tonight," she said. "I used to work for Quark. He kept a minimum of three sets of books. One for him, so he knew where things really stood. One for Rom so Rom wouldn't suspect how much he got cheated. And one for Brunt to look at. After his, ugh, problem he needed to make sure they could trace all they want and find nothing. Just happens to be my specialty."

She felt very alien to him, as if she was from a whole different world. But he understood. She could spot patterns because she knew how to make them. So did whoever was creating them in his reports.

A small bit of pleasant anticipation slipped in. Just like his role as Training head defined him and structured his life, he thought the pretend relationship might give it a little balance. Perhaps he might even enjoy it a little.

"Do you suspect it's someone in Supply?" he asked, testing the waters, as much to see if he'd even get an answer as wanting one.

"See, that's the thing," said the lieutenant. "They way its being done, it could be from anywhere. Whatever the goal is, it's just being set up now. The most important part is to find the origin and make sure it doesn't happen. Then, of course, you'll be done but you and Sarah must continue this relationship for a reasonable amount of time so there are no odd coincidences."

Duncan realized it was to be "solved" privately. He doubted he'd ever know, and felt a little cheated. If the Dominion also felt that way, if they knew about her background, then he was sure they'd not be pleased if nobody was identified.

This "relationship" would have to go on or he would look as if he was part of their plot, and would be punished as they would. In the silence that suddenly filled the room, he realized, be it an act or not, just how much her continued company would change the normal comfort of his routine.

"Well, I think we should wrap this up," said the Bajoran. "Sarah will be going home and you two need to bump into each other at dinner tonight I suppose."

She smiled at him. Dax smiled at people sometimes and it lightened the feel of the room. Even if she was just acting, Sarah's smile was a small balance to the dark cloud inside him. "Sit along the side for dinner tonight. They are doing steaks so its going to be crowded. Leave two seats and I'll slip in."

Two, he wondered, but didn't ask. Wishing he had listened more to Julian when he'd talked about his spy games, he watched as she walked out the door, looking fully at ease.

"Are you sure you can do this?" asked the lieutenant. "You have no idea how important this is and I'm not going to be able to explain."

Duncan felt as if he'd was one of the hapless he was trying to educate about forms. But he could tell this mattered far more than perhaps he really wanted to know. "I can. We will," he said.

"Good. We won't be discussing it again. In the meanwhile our meeting isn't over. You were going to discuss ranking the skills of the clerks, in terms of promotion, I believe."

That really wasn't a matter for Security, unless you anticipated needing to replace a lot of people someday. He pushed the idea away, letting Sarah and her dinner rendevous fill its space. "Of course. I wrote out these papers yesterday. I didn't have a chance to make another copy," he began.

The meeting lasted another hour, typical of their meetings, and he took the short route back to his office. Looking over the desks, now all occupied, he wondered why they were so insistent on knowing who could do what and why they wouldn't say they needed to know so badly. Shutting the door of his office, he pulled out his latest stack of forms, the ones lately taking over his life, that even sub Department heads were required to submit and thinned the pile a little. But now, he wondered if any of those who fed him the numbers were playing a very dangerous game for all of them.

o0o

Julian finished his dinner first, and decided that the line for seconds was too long. He'd noticed, sitting mostly by himself, that Duncan had company that night, a young woman and her toddler. Nobody wanted to be around him and he didn't come for lunch anymore when they did manage to get together since his promotion. Perhaps he looked lonely and she didn't really know who he was. Since Lonnie wasn't in the mood for conversation, he watched them. The three had left together after someone brought them seconds. Willman would never have allowed that. Lonnie agreed about the line, even with the steaks. . Her quarters were closest to the pathway back, and they had a little time before curfew and their allotted hour was up. She asked him in.

He had never seen her quarters. It was no different from his, except she had a lot more to squeeze in and it seemed smaller from the crowding. But she had still managed to make it look like home. She went into her bedroom and brought out a small charm, carefully repaired. She held it gently in the palm of her hand. "My mother gave me this. It's been passed down for four generations. It scares me to think I may be the last."

He didn't want to see what she was trying to say. "You don't know that."

"Look, something is going on beyond the obvious. I think you know. I don't really want to know what. Just how bad it is." She looked at him, as he thought about what to say. "You don't have to say anything. Look, sloppy handling of lab stuff has happened before, even in the last year, and he's never looked this scared. And you're not really mad at him anymore."

He shrugged. "It's bad. We don't know how bad yet. You didn't hear that from me." He was utterly serious, and she nodded. Looking at the charm, he said, softly, "It's beautiful. You should wear it with that dress." He didn't smile, but his eyes did. She returned her charm to its safe place and came back. "Thank you. But you have to go now."

"I know," he said, squeezing her hand. "But I'll see you for breakfast. Early?"

She nodded, looking very tired. "We better if want any." He took her hand and squeezed it and she returned the gesture. Reluctantly, he let go.

She opened the door for him. He noticed that she watched as he hopped down the pathway that led to his room, wondering about the warning he'd given.

o0o

Lonnie closed the door. She walked inside and sat on her bed.

Bad, she thought. He had said everything with his eyes. The lab specimen had to have been very dangerous. She knew Willman was scared about an epidemic. The room around her was as close to home as was possible now. She pretended that the outside world couldn't get in. But this had.

If they were keeping it such a deep dark secret it must be real, and very bad. How soon would it be impossible to hide? How many would they lose?

She was so tired. Everyone was overworked. With the winter work and harvest, there had been a lot of minor injuries. But here, even small cuts could turn deadly and the hospital had been very busy. Would they be the first to fall sick, the first to be exposed? Had they already been?

She wanted to sleep. Maybe in dreams she could get away from this nightmare.

But first she took out the charm. It was so simple, yet striking. She cherished it, not only for its memories but for its beauty. There was so little of it left in life that what remained had to be carefully guarded.

She returned it to its hiding place, but remembered how it felt in her palm. Filled with dreams of home, she fell asleep almost immediately.

For the first time in ages she dreamed about the family she'd left behind and woke in the middle of the night, tears in her eyes. She buried her head in her pillow and let the tears come.

You had to mourn. By morning she'd be able to pretend that she didn't know the secret, and she might be able to get through another day.

o0o

Bashir was not so lucky. Sleep alluded him that night. The grey, dimly lit barracks of Internment Camp 371 filled his head. Cyrus was different, but it had come to feel much the same.

It was hard to pretend. When Willman had first shown him the "oddity" he had been suspicious of its origion, but had kept it to himself. Then everything else had been eliminated, and there was only the local chemicals or Them. But the chemicals had nothing to do with it, and it was certain. They were culling the herd. Or perhaps instead of the Jem'Hadar, the disease would be the punishment.

He tested blood samples every afternoon, tracking a randomly chosen group of staff and patients. Willman had asked for blood testing for the staff and selected others to make sure they hadn't been replaced, and convinced Sisko that it should be ongoing. The antibody count was going up in all of them. He didn't get names; Willman kept track of that by coding it to numbers. But he saw the growing threat. Both had agreed the whole project had to be as isolated as possible.

But some were reacting far worse and would likely be the sickest. Or perhaps the first casualties. It included the usual, those already weakened or sick especially. But the pattern was still rather random. He'd ask for an accounting of age and health of his samples, and Willman had provided the data. The obvious groups were effected worse. But there was something very random about the rest. Some were likely to be very ill that should not be. What was it about them that set them apart? Was it genetic, some kind of DNA link he did not have the ability to test? Were they not simply culling the herd of the weak but of the ones they didn't want to breed? And would the next virus, perhaps already working its way into their bodies, select another small, but unwanted characteristic of their slaves to breed out of existence?

Willman had looked at the analysis and probably had the same thoughts, but had simply grown more grim and distant. Maybe he had wished for the understandable violence of the Cardassians over the cold blooded science of these monsters. But Bashir knew he need not worry. He would survive. When he was a small boy, his father had insured that on Algenon Prime.

He had volunteered to do all the direct handling. He knew more of safety procedures than anyone else. And he owed them something. His patients had died because he'd chosen to wait for the second evacuation. And Barrett could have put up with twenty more passengers on that long flight and perhaps more than a hundred would have lived.

And his leg might be whole. As much as he blamed Willman and Them, he knew without his urging Barrett to risk the beaming he would almost certainly have arrived uninjured.

Watching the gloomy room, he imagined the cots along the wall, and the sleeping companions he'd learned to value. Now most of them were probably dead. He could have talked about the gloomy mood with Garak, or even Martok. But even if there was someone here who would understand besides Willman, he had promised to say nothing.

He'd completely revised his view of the man. Sitting in the lab, he didn't see the stern master or the friendly man Lonnie had known, just a man desperate for answers but afraid of them, too.

He wished he could go to Willman and talk. He would understand. Perhaps the doctor would even welcome the chance to unburden his own fears.

But Willman was alone. He was the man in charge. He could not share.

Bashir lay in his bed, hearing the sounds of others across the room and remembered. But the old nightmare was almost comforting compared to the thought he woke with after a short, exhausted sleep.

When they came, and he was sure someday they would, Willman might be taken away. Would he replace him? Would he have to stand alone and lonely like Willman?

He had hated Willman, and feared him, but the worse fear of all was that he fail.

end, Legacy, Year 1, part 1-4, Chapter 17


	19. Part 4Interesting Times Chapter 18

LEGACY

An Alternate History of the Dominion War

Year 1 - Innocence

Part 4- Interesting Times

Chapter 18

.

Walter Vance prepared for bed, and as he had done in the last few months, he removed the chain with his old tag from his neck and hung it on a peg across the room. He rubbed his neck were the other had been put, and wondered if they would notice. Then he would turn off the light, and go to bed.

He had little trouble sleeping anymore. The nightmares came, but not so often. He had taken to daring them every night to return and make him wear it. He knew they had already done that. But there was such frustration, and even if it was a meaningless gesture, he felt a little better for doing it.

He could remember the places he'd lived as a boy and the people who were trying to survive, when he would leave and go home to comfort and plenty. But he'd spent as much time with the survivors of war and famine as at home in his safe, comfortable colony. His playmates had learned to make small victories, and now Walter made them too.

Sometimes he dreamed he still lived in the camp with his father, running with the children of the survivors. Even then, he'd known that it was different when you could leave.

He didn't do much anymore except meals and visiting his friends. Ray and Tara lived near by, and he met them at their little hut to go to breakfast. When the deck was open for food, less and less as the days grew progressively colder, they would spend the rest of the day there, but at the warehouse they hurried their meal and went home. Walter disliked the place. In his mind he could still see the machines lined up in their neat rows, and it reminded him that the dream had been stolen.

But meals were served there. It was better than having to sit in the cold, so he put up with it.

He had new friends. Ray and Tara were an odd pair. Ray was the only survivor of the Antelope crew. Tara had worked for one of the shops at the station, making a marginal living selling various curiosities to visitors. He was comfortable with them, and they reminded him of the boy he'd been who already knew the world wasn't kind or fair, and you had to make your own way with it. Neither of them were all that sociable, but they liked Walter. When their roommate moved out Walter was planning to move in. None of it was official, but nobody paid that much attention to where people lived.

It would change only one part of his routine. He would no longer remove the tag. On the off-chance it wasn't an empty protest, he would not endanger his friends. For them, he would learn to live with the frustration without the relief of his small nightly dare.

But it wasn't so bad, when he considered Blanchard and his new friend. Zale had given him a few dark looks, but he was acting too sneaky and smug. He and some of the others were engaged in acts far less symbolic than Walters missing pin. A part of him cheered them on. But it scared him, too. Thanks to Justin and his friend, life had become miserable. Justin showed no sign of regret on the few occasions he'd seen his old partner. But it hardly surprised Walter. Justin never abandoned anything he had made a commitment to.

After spending so many years talking, Walter had learned to listen. He'd always listened for the clues to what his audience wanted to hear. But this was different. People didn't say much, but enough. Justin probably thought he was saving them, but would have been astonished at how much he was hated. When there was no where to go, when one didn't dare poke their head out at night, it was the unknown experimenter that the anger was aimed at. He had, singlehandedly, succeeded at making the reality obvious to even the most positive of the residents.

When Justin had first suggested hiding the things, Walter had been uneasy about it. But he'd been won over by the glory of resisting. In his neck was token of that, and he knew someday the hidden things would catch up to Justin.

And everyone else, he reminded himself. Maybe he was Willman's Chandler, but this Chandler wouldn't be alone. How would Justin act after they stabbed him in the neck? Would even that make Justin regret what he'd done?

Of course, it was still a game to Justin, but one day he would learn that games could be deadly too.

o0o

Somehow, there should be some kind of ceremony, she thought, as she rubbed the space where the bracelet had been. Megan had been called away from work after lunch, then taken to a building she'd never been to in the honeycomb of their compound. A greysuit had ask her to sit, ask her questions to verify the things on her form, and taken her to the machine. She lay back as her wrist was encased in a soft band. There was a tingling, warm feeling and her hand was released, then the bracelet detached. Megan had watched as it and the form was dropped in a bag and sealed. She hadn't known if she should go or what exactly it meant.. Nobody had told her but she knew it was the first step.

She'd been sent to wardrobe, where her clothing size was rechecked and adjusted a little. Then she was told to change, led to a changing room, where a grey uniform hung on a hanger. It wouldn't fit right, but it was temporary, she was told. She should leave her other suits out where they could be picked up when her new ones were delivered the next day. After the jacket was slightly refit, a little loosely shaped for their standards, she was sent down another corridor to another office in her new grey uniform. It was all as if she was just dreaming and she'd wake up and find it was only a wish.

The greysuit reviewed a file, mostly about her job and residence. Her new position was just a level up, but it was enough that she was now fully a member of CA. She was no longer considered conscripted. It did not occur to her to substitute other labels. She wasn't a silver anymore. But lacking a bracelet hadn't saved the staff from the warehouse when they raided.

It did, however, give her more options. Sir would promote her again. Eventually the only promotion available would be to somewhere else. She didn't care where as long as it had nothing to do Sir or disappearing supplies..

After everyone making it sound like the day had been rather ordinary, returning to work in her new grey uniform was notable. Sir had been drowning in a pile of forms but had moved to the side and ask her to come. She was on edge. Despite the words of congratulations, the edge was more brittle and the words a little more careful. She was supposed to see him that night and have dinner and was now far behind in her forms. She ask, most politely, if she could wait until tomorrow to finish as she had an engagement that evening. It was no surprise that Sir agreed, but the wary look in her eyes she couldn't cover anymore was a small comfort. Sir wanted to get rid of her as soon as she could.

For a moment, Megan had been in charge of something. Sir had belonged to her. It wasn't just her moment, but belonged to all of them in the room who might fall along with her when their patience was done. Maybe it wouldn't change anything, but she *knew* and perhaps when she looked at them instead of her own survival being everything she might understand just how much it was going to cost.

She sat at her desk, picking up the papers one by one, all third fills. As she wrote in the numbers, each recorded with the precision that probably marked her forms, and had marked the ones Sir would never give her again, she studied them a little more carefully than before. The moment they'd taken away the bracelet, nothing was the same.

Tonight, when he took her home for dinner, when the nanny spied on them as they celebrated and Chele greeted her with bubbling joy, would he see that a stranger now sat at his table?

o0o

Sisko watched his staff troop into his office with more stacks of documents, all with the distinctive green Ag stamp on the front. Blanchard and his staff had been busy. But he was still not quite done with the post-harvest paperwork. Sisko wondered what possible use there was for all the detailed reports on the harvest, except that it made it impossible to keep anything to themselves. They knew exactly how much food they had, of what type, and how long it had been stored. He was very uneasy about the implications.

But the price of more supplies for another harvest was a completed report from this one, so Justin continued to pour out reports and Sisko continued to process them. Having a harvest at all was too important.

It was in this turmoil of papers and boxes that Willman dropped his bomb. He had arrived unexpectedly, with a few reports as an excuse, and had shut the door himself. Sisko looked up from his now automated process of report handling. "Welcome to the mess. If those aren't Ag reports I'd put them over there," he said, pointing at a table. Willman slowly walked towards the table and sat his reports down. He came back towards Sisko's desk and moved some papers off a chair so he could sit.

Sisko could not help but notice his demeanor and stopped the flow of paper and sat himself. He was glad he was sitting when Willman made his statement, with the deceptive calm that Sisko had come to understand as extreme stress. "I think I know why we haven't had any visitors from the sky."

"Yes," he asked, worried.

"I've been doing blood screens for months for possible infections. In the last few months I've noticed a growing number of anti-bodies against something in the blood samples, but the patients get well and the virus that's causing the reaction has hidden in the cells. Bashir thinks it's imported. It's not human, Bajoran, or Cardassian. But whatever it is, when it goes off we are in for a major epidemic of something."

Sisko just sat still, staring at the doctor. "You're absolutely certain?"

"Both of us I have no doubts, and your doctor has more than confirmed it. In fact, we've isolated the virus. He's trying to find something that effects it so when the epidemic hits we may have a chance."

"Who knows?" asked Sisko cautiously, suddenly worried about a panic.

"You, me, and him. And of course whoever introduced the virus."

"Is there anything you can do? Do you have any idea how it was brought in?"

Willman shrugged. "Food, or supplies. Something was contaminated and it probably became airborne. It's gone now, except that it's already exposed almost everyone here. And no doubt when people get sick it will get the ones it missed before. We're doing all we can. When I have something more to say about it I'll let you know." Willman looked grim.

Sisko looked him in the eyes. "How bad will it be?"

Willman shook his head. "I can't say. That depends entirely on how bad They intend it to be."

Willman mumbled that he had to get back to work, but left the door closed. Sisko numbly picked up the Ag reports and began the process again, but he couldn't look at them. All he could do was try to bury the anger again, and stop himself from shoving the entire mess on the floor and trampling it.

o0o

Darla was still awake when Megan returned that evening, but in bed. She carefully took off the new clothes and hung them up, before noticing the white bag lying on her bed.

"Didn't think you'd be back tonight," said Darla suddenly, sliding back the blanket from her huddle of covers.

"Sir said I could finish up tomorrow," she said levelly, knowing that wasn't what had been meant."

Darla shifted around and her face could be seen now, looking amused. "So I guess you should pack a bag then."

Megan was tired and the enormity of it all was hitting her and she just wanted to go to bed. "No, I'll work pretty late. I'll come in quiet so I don't wake you up."

"She might just have someone else do it for you. Favors, you know."

Megan picked up the white bag. "What's this?" she asked, choosing to ignore the comment. Sir had now given her almost all the third fills and if she wasn't there they would not be done in time. Nobody was immune from that sort of failure. She hated the thought of the long day ahead, especially with third fills where the reality of their life was so plainly traced. If she could choose, she'd go back to the mind numbing task of the first fills any day.

But Darla would think what she wanted.

"Wardrobe. Said put the old suits in it and they'll pick them up tomorrow." Darla sounded sleepy and she wished she'd shut up and go back to sleep. Megan wasn't in the mood for conversation, and Darla wasn't really trying for it either.

"Fine," she said, dressed for bed. She crawled in, arraigning her pillows, dimming the lights. But her mind was on Chele and Tanni and their smiles and laughter. "I though I was going to get the new one dirty tonight. We had something with this sauce which dribbled everywhere." She could see the kids experimenting with the pasta and the mess they'd made and smiled, drawn back to the reality as she remembered how it had at least distracted the nanny from watching so close. "Then, to celebrate, we had triple fudge sundaes for desert," she added. It was too bad that Darla hated chocolate. They didn't get triple fudge sundaes in their little cafeteria. She'd have much rather just gone to bed without the smirks. She really wanted to go to sleep surrounded by nice memories for once. But it had been a good night, no matter what else had changed. "Chele called me mommy tonight," she said, floating on the joy and letting it make her feel like things would be okay. She turned on her side, finally comfortable enough to relax, when Darla destroyed it.

"He's using them, you know. He's being pressured to marry someone and refuses to. If he wants the kids he gets a wife, and she has to quality. So now he has a rising star greysuit everyone has noticed to counter with, and he knows you'll do anything for the kids."

She wondered if Darla had heard this news or it was one of the random rumors that got made up to get back at your rivals. "They're his kids. So would he."

"Exactly. And they know it. Now that he can marry you I'd make sure to sleep with him. Get pregnant and he'll do everything he can to protect his own kid."

Megan didn't want to think about that yet. The new turn in her life was too early to contemplate all the ramifications. But he had asked her to come to him when she finished her late night in a few days. The children would be asleep. The nanny should be gone but there was no guarantee. The kids were already excited about it and she did want to spend the day with them again. The bond forged in that dungeon had not been lost. He'd already shown her off in the blue dress at Chele's party and if she spent the night it would just cement the idea that she was to be joining them soon.

"I'm spending my day off there. We'll see," she said, yawning now, the days weight making her want to escape into her own private dreams.

"Good, then you won't come in and wake me up," said Darla, somewhere between complete understanding and complete disapproval.

Darla either fell asleep or had nothing more to say, but Megan lay awake. She remembered how listless Chele had been that day he'd taken the children, how easily she could have been gone. But she was lucky. She'd been saved by random chance that time. The smiling giggling child she'd held lived by the luck of the draw. She passed the wired corridor every day, but didn't look out anymore. It was just a passage way. Their compound had grown and now there were no suffering wreaks to see. She didn't know if she could look upon her greysuit the same if there were.

Darla was half-asleep when she broke into Megan's chain of thought. "Oh, forgot. I was supposed to tell you there's an epidemic going on outside. No idea what but it's especially bad for kids. If either of them even have a little cold, Medical needs to do an evaluation."

"Okay, " she said, remembering the way Chele had clung to her and how Tanni had fought when he was drawn away. She didn't want to think of that, of the reality waiting outside should she and her game fail. Of the devastating crash of reality if his took them both down to the dirt. But now she could not push it away. "What about us?" she asked.

"They did some kind of testing. They don't seem to be too worried. We were all screened. I don't think they did that with the kids."

The murky world outside was too much of the nightmare become real and Megan banished it. The kids were protected. They didn't touch that world. She didn't either. She made herself remember Chele's laugh and felt her snuggled in her arms and was able to fool herself into believing that it would always go on forever, at least for the night.

o0o

Willy stared out the window of his cramped quarters, watching the setting sun. He'd gone home early that night, needing to be alone. Somehow, telling Sisko about the virus, and his stunned reaction had made the nightmare it promised to bring all the more real. He had tried so hard. He had made himself the one they feared so it might keep them in line. He had lost all his friends, and the man they had all called "Willy" was gone forever.

And it was all for naught. Instead of the Jem'Hadar, They had sent a tiny, but far more terrible form of punishment. The virus would probably leave the healthy alone, but he had no doubt it would kill the weak. It was so cold, and somehow he had never expected it. He could deal with the excesses of the Cardassians or the Jem'Hadar. He could understand that. But this was so impersonal an act, one of expediency. Fewer to feed, he told himself. Or perhaps it was a preparation for some future plan. Bashir seemed to think so. If any of them had wondered what they were to the Dominion, it was quite plain now.

Or, at least, in time it would be.

He found it curious that Bashir was so accepting of the implications. He'd seen their handiwork before in the Blight. He was a hero to these people, but did not consider himself to be. Willman expected anger this time now that he was the victim, but only saw resignation and so much bitterness.

He'd hoped for more. Somehow, he'd thought Bashir would fight back. But all he'd suggested was to find a way to reduce their losses in the plague to come.

He wondered if Bashir had ever let anyone inside his own nightmares. The Starfleet doctors must have debriefed him. Willman had been debriefed himself after their release from Cardassian captivity, but only time had dimmed the memories. Even if it wasn't the reptilian demons sitting above them, he was having trouble keeping back the hopeless wall of grief that threatened to overwhelm him every time he let down his guard.

And Bashir *knew* these people, especially how ruthless and cold they were. He'd had to live as their prisoner. What was it about that place had he kept strictly to himself?

Willman had things he'd kept private, memories so bad he could not bear to speak them or they'd become real again. But the Cardassians were brutes. They were cold and ruthless, but they liked what they did. This enemy felt nothing more than his own kind once did when they looked at the creatures in their labs. He could not quite put to words how it felt to be one.

He was so tired. All he wanted was to drop his act, to go back to being just Willy. But he knew that was not possible. He had made an image of himself that was too strong, and should he suddenly change it would be too clear a signal that something was wrong. He has sworn Bashir to secrecy, and had to pretend that the solid respect the two men had built quietly in the lab did not exist. He would have to continue to be Dr. Willman. There was no choice, not now.

Still, some things would change. He wanted a better team of medical aides, those who could take care of patients only marginally ill, so the others would not be so busy. This would leave more time for the worse cases, he thought. He would have Bashir work on this, as he had always wanted to.

There were other things for Bashir to do as well. He would have to be able to handle any procedure. He was already capable of almost all of it, but one procedure was still the grist of nightmares to the young doctor, and it was time he got over that.

o0o

Bashir could walk well enough, but not stand for any time, and it surprised him when was assigned to assist Willman in a procedure.

He'd been on his feet too much already that day, and had to be dragged reluctantly out of bed. The orderly explained it was an emergency. He followed the orderly in an unsteady gait up to the door of the surgery section. He waited for a moment, trying to calm his nerves. He seldom went in the room unless he had to.

Lonnie emerged, looking worried, and pulled him in, pointing to the wash-up area. "He said hurry up. It's important." She was using her nurse voice, but ended it with a quick look of encouragement. Hobbling to the basin, he balanced himself carefully while he washed. A few minutes later he limped to the open door of surgery.

He froze in place, unable to move.

He knew what they were going to do. The patient was already sedated, her pus covered arm already in the harness. He stared to back up, remembering the stomach ache from reading about it. He was afraid he'd get sick if he had to watch.

"Not so fast. I said I needed you here, I need you here Get in." It was his department supervisor's order.

His leg began to throb with the memory and he nearly lost his balance. "I don't think I could stand very long," he pleaded, still holding back.

"You don't have to stand. Look, Doctor. It's restrictions for a week if you don't get in here now." Willman was determined and he gave up. He made it a few steps into the room and stopped. Lonnie guided him to a chair next to the woman and he sat down. He looked away from the table.

Willman stood next to him. Placing Bashir's hand around the woman's, he spoke very quietly, looking the terrified doctor in the eyes. "This is Leanne. She fell on a sluice a couple of weeks ago and we haven't been able to keep the infection from spreading. She's going to die eventually if we don't do this. She's scared, just like you. She needs someone to hold her hand and be there for her. That someone is you. You know how to do it. Now, what she doesn't need is your fear. You have to keep it from her. Just hold her hand. She will still feel something, and when she needs comforting you have to give it. We'll be too busy. Put this in." It was a fold of cloth, and Bashir numbly tilted her mouth open to place it between her teeth. She didn't react. He took a deep breath and looked pleadingly at Willman.

"Don't make me do this. I'll watch, but not this way."

"No. You keep your own fears in check. I know you can. Someday you'll have to do the procedure yourself and what are you going to do then?"

He swore to himself that he would never do this unless it was the very last chance for the patient.

Willman ordered the basin be set in place. A rounded basin was fitted under the harness. He tried not to look at it but could not look at the woman without seeing it. He silently cursed Willman's existence.

The syrup was brought in a small basin with a brush. Willman began applying it slowly just to the wounded area. It immediately reacted with the skin, pulling fluid from the wound and reddening the diseased skin. It was white. Somehow he'd imagined it to be blood red in his nightmares. He watched as it began breaking down the surface, opening breaks in the damaged skin, then sinking into the wound.

His horrified fascination with her arm and what was happening to it was interrupted when she began to squirm. He leaned over her, interlacing her fingers with his, squeezing back hard as she gripped his hand. She didn't open her eyes, but her head moved about. She whimpered through the cloth, biting it hard. He stroked her hair gently with his other hand. His leg was throbbing from the weight he was putting on it and the memories but all he saw was the woman. "Sleep, just go with the pain," he whispered into her ear. She gripped harder squirming against the restraints, and abruptly fainted. He slumped back into the chair, laying his forehead on her shoulder, closing his eyes against his own memories. In a minute he got himself under control and lifted his head and looked again, tears streaming from his eyes.

The wound had begun to weep. Puss and fluid was running down her arm into the basin. It left her health skin pink. He continued to hold her hand and stroke her hair even if she didn't know he was doing it. The syrup slowly dissolved into the wound. He was surprised how long it took. He remembered how sick he'd felt when he'd first read about the procedure, about how that had brought on the nightmares. Now he could not take his eyes off her arm.

The arm was rinsed with clear water, and he saw the shattered bits of skin left behind. He tried to block the image in his head of his leg, especially the second time. He tensed, watching the basin slid out of the lower harness and the clean one that replaced it slip up so that it contained her arm within.

For a second he closed his eyes. The only part of the second procedure he remembered, from which he had nearly died, was this. The pain had been so bad it had reached through all the drugs and into the near-coma. Willman poured the clear fluid into the basin and Bashir watched as it covered her arm.

He banished his own memories as best he could when she jerked. She had her mouth open and the cloth was slipping. He pulled it out. She began to scream. The fizzing sound filled the room and his memories. He held her hand, encouraging her to let out the pain. He wasn't even aware that he was standing on his bad leg. He had not screamed. He had been lost in a nightmare where they wanted him to. He wished he had. She was handling it better. She suddenly stopped screaming and collapsed. His eyes locked on her face and arm, the fizzing growing less, he slumped back into the chair, his face covered with fresh tears. He remembered he had gone into shock and checked her condition. She was breathing a little shallow, but enough, and while her pulse was racing, she felt warm. He nodded to Willman's question and stroked her and squeezed her hand. "It's almost over," he told her even if she couldn't hear him.

The fizzing had stopped. The basin was lowered and withdrawn, and he looked at the arm closely. The damaged skin was white and drawn. The redness had gone. Another basin was placed just under her arm and a jet of water washed the destroyed skin from the wound. It left a curved red line where the cut had been. She didn't respond at all.

Willman said, "Thank you, Doctor. You did a very good job." Bashir didn't say anything, but put his head on her shoulder again, feeling the slight grip she still had on his hand. He didn't watch as it was bandaged, but closed his eyes and tried to separate himself mentally from her.

When they were done, he managed to keep hold of her hand while she was moved to her bed. He sat with her for hours until he fell asleep.

When he woke up he was in his own bed, and Lonnie was sitting next to him. He shook his head to clear the fog from his mind. She looked at him and spoke very softly, tears starting to form. "I know," she paused for a moment, " I know how hard it was for me to do that, especially knowing it was the second time, and I can't image how bad it was for you. When she's awake you should go see her but not yet, not until your ready." She looked at him, the tears wetting her eyes, but nothing more.

She had already learned to keep it inside. He'd known how before, and now that the memories were changed he could again.

He had always seen a theater of blood and horror. Now, he could fix that. And Willman was right. He had to deal with his memories or he'd never be a doctor again.

"Take my hand," he said. He sat up, intending to tell her how he understood. But instead she put her arms around him.

"You did very well," she said softly. "But you have to let out all the pain too. Don't try to pretend it isn't there."

He looked at his leg. She'd removed the brace, and he could see the scars around his ankle. It hurt as it always did. He couldn't tell how much anymore since the only difference was how bad the pain was.

He could feel the tears come. Maimed and ruined, his leg was a symbol for everything else lost. She pulled him close and he buried his head in her shoulder and let them flow.

They didn't last long. If he let the pain out for too long, he'd lose that tenuous control that could push it far enough away to stand it. When she let him go he was surprised to see her face was wet too.

"I have to go," she said, calmly and without any rush. "It's getting late."

"Thank you," he said.

"Congratulations, Doctor. You passed."

He watched as she left. She hadn't called him "doctor" before. She'd proved herself in the harsh life they had to live, and from her, it was a great compliment.

Willman would need him in a little while, and her. When the time came, today's exercise would only be passing memory.

He was a doctor. It was time he stared acting like one.

o0o

The post harvesting processing finally done, and the boxes of reports completed, Justin Blanchard had gone back to his lab and his greenhouse with renewed energy. Jaro had already compiled a list of the most promising plants and they had confirmed they could be grown from seed. They were moving into the next stage of their test, which was to explore how much more productive the plants would be in terraformed soil than a mixed or natural one. Jaro had already designed a small push-cart like plow that should break up the ground with minimum effort on the part of the operator. There were others who could refine it, and they intended to ask them, but that was best a task for the winter when they would be less busy.

Along the way, they had also established a very reliable pattern for themselves. They spent most of their time in the lab, from early morning to evening, occasionally spending the night. It was not uncommon for them to have lunch brought in by an aide. They worked alone, and were seldom bothered by anyone now that most of the years work for the department was done If one knew the right time to slip out of the building when no one was looking, and they didn't dawdle, it would be easy to slip into the hills and back without anyone ever knowing they had gone.

Three days before Jaro had hidden a short note in a small loose part of a shelter. Then he had accidentally bumped the ex-aide who was assisting them. The next day he found a message inside his pillow, again, giving them a time and place. That morning, just after breakfast had been delivered and the path towards the hills was clear, they had slipped out into the narrow opening that led them past the first row of hills. Their friend was waiting. He led them along the shortest route to the cave system, and to the stash of equipment.

Jaro did not take the time to marvel at the outer cave that time. He followed Justin into the larger area, setting up the replicator to make the individual chemicals they would need They had considered simply replicating the mixture, but if it took too long to return and do the test, it would deactivate and possibly damage the container. They had to be back before lunch today. The chemicals were hurriedly replicated and stashed in the outer cave, along with the machine they planned to use, and they slipped, unnoticed back into their lab in time to appear busy as their aide asked if they wished to have their lunches delivered.

Justin and Jaro declined and went to lunch themselves. Even their guide was sipping his lunch, quite visibly if anyone wondered where he'd been. The rest of the day they spent in the lab, and took their dinner in the office. Jaro didn't make it home that night, having stayed too late, but that was not unusual. Both men, however, felt much more confident about their next journey into forbidden territory.

o0o

Julian Bashir had fallen the day before, and his leg hurt so much he could barely stand to walk on it. Willman examined it, and concluded that in a week or so it would heal. In the meanwhile, he had forbidden him to use the crutches. Bashir had been using them more and more as the days got longer and the pain worse without any rest. But the pathways were getting slippery and he had fallen because of them, and it was just going to get worse. Willman claimed he had a surprise, but all Bashir wanted was to stay in bed. He left work early because he was hurting too much, and he was hoping to be left alone all afternoon.

He was sleeping when Willman arrived. His boots had been tossed across the room when he'd got home, and he was lying on his side, resting his throbbing leg on pillows with the brace only loosened. It was getting cold and he was wrapped in a blanket.

Willman didn't bother to knock. "Your not ready for our walk."

Bashir stirred, still half asleep. He ignored Willman. He had no intention of going for a walk.

Willman brought him his boots and coat. He picked up the book on Willman's personal treatments he'd been reading earlier. "It's good to see your reading but it's walk time. Come on, up we go." He removed the book from the bed. Bashir reluctantly sat up.

He tried to change Willman's mind, but knew that was a hopeless case. "Could we do this next week? This just hurts too much."

"Can't. I've got the permit for today, so today we go." He tightened the brace and Bashir winced. "You should let me try something to help the pain."

Bashir was resigned to have to go on his walk, but was not in a good mood. "Not unless it's necessary." Bashir was starting to look resentful.

"You need to lose that attitude, Doctor." Willman was in lecture mode. "It may not help a lot, but you need to be able to manage your work, and as far as I can see you're not doing all that well," he said, glancing at the crutches.

He gave up. Resigned, he said, "All right, I'll get ready. But I don't know how far I can manage. It gets too bad we turn back."

"You can make it. It's really not that far. But it's very pretty."

Willman sounded almost cheerful. That meant that later on he'd get over it and be depressed. "Pretty doesn't exist on this rock."

"Attitude, Doctor. Remember. Perhaps it's time to talk to Captain Sisko again."

o0o

Sitting on a rock, trying to catch his breath, he wondered how far away "far" would be. He had sat on his own. He was considering turning back, too, even if he took the risk of falling.

Willman reappeared, motioning him to come along. "All the obstacles have been moved. Nothing to trip over now. Time to go."

He was serious about staying put. He was at his limit. "I just can't, Sir. It hurts too much."

Willman came over and offered his arm for support. "It's only fifteen minutes away. I want you to see this."

Letting Willman's arm take most of the weight, he limped forward.

He was astonished when they arrived. It was a little cove, formed by the rock face of the nearby hills. A babbling brook ran through it, and it was green. There were a few trees as well, especially one which looked like two circles side by side. Willman helped him down. "I thought you needed to see this. Renew your spirit a little."

He was impressed. "I didn't know anything like this existed here. You didn't plant this did you?"

"No, these are native plants. I'm thinking of testing them for pharmaceutical qualities. You never know. If we could grow some of the casaba trees near home it would be a lot more convent than coming here to get to them. We don't have enough water there for these species, but all we need to do is divert a stream and they'd grow fine. Interesting even Blanchard has decided to see what we can do with the native plants."

"Isn't it a little late for that," said Bashir.

"Not according to Blanchard. And I agree. We have to try. I've been reading his reports of the species he's tested. He's got quite an impressive little hothouse garden going. He's using the terraformed soil, but he's also going to test them in the standard soil. That is his job, after all." There was an odd tone to the way he said it.

"Another attitude problem?" ask Bashir, lightly.

"Of a sort. He's completely wrapped up in his research, and doesn't see anything else. I don't know what They have in mind but I think we have to keep trying. For our own sakes . . . . "

Bashir thought he might bring up something he had needed to say for a long time. He spoke very quietly. "I keep thinking of the internment camp. I remember when I first woke up there, the shock, but how it became so normal after a little time," he paused. "In its own way this isn't any different. I had already sensed a *change* before we got here. But I don't recognize my friends. Jadzia smiles these little wan smiles and looks right through you. She won't talk about it. I don't know, I'm worried about her. Miles is almost the same sometimes, except he's putting up a big front. I don't know how he stands not knowing about his family. I wish I could think of some way to help but I can't." He was depressed. "Sometimes I feel like I deserted him, but I just can't relate to him anymore, or most of the people I called friends." He sighed. "I have some good friends, but it's . . . different. We sort of understand each other. We don't have to try to put things into words." He looked at Willman. "It's like everybody here is just barely coping. What happens when the virus hits?"

Willman looked at him, thoughtfully. "We'll be rather busy. Back there at that camp, how did you manage?"

"I played their game, I suppose. Well, mostly. I did try to get medical supplies once and discovered it was pointless. After that I stopped asking."

"What got you into isolation?"

"A stupid mistake. I suppose in that case there's no room for them." He thought to himself that there was no room for it here either.

"It's too bad a few of the people around here haven't figured that out," mused Willman.

Bashir decided it was better not to ask. He tried to shift his leg to an easier position and groaned. "I think you may have to carry me home."

"With my bad back?" said Willman. He took the coat he was carrying and put it over Bashir's legs. "Look, why don't you take a rest. I want to scan some plants. I'll be back in a little while."

o0o

When Bashir woke up it was nearing sunset. They had to be back before curfew. He managed to get up and using a broken branch hobbled towards where Willman had disappeared. He heard a rustling sound inside the rock. If you looked just so you could see a small opening. He pushed the shrubbery aside with the branch and squeezed inside.

He stopped in his tracks, forgetting about his leg. Inside there was a small light. Willman was re-packing medical devices into small crates. They were most certainly banned.

"Doctor," said Willman, very surprised. "I didn't expect you to be up."

"It's going to be dark soon and we need to be back or both of us are in trouble. I thought you ought to know," he said, stunned. Julian had dropped down next to the box. He picked up one particular instrument. Holding it up to the light, he sighed. "This could save my life." Willman didn't take his eyes off the instrument or Julian. "Just what is going on here?" Bashir finished.

"I discovered these had been hidden. I wanted to see what they had. I also want to find out who took them."

"Shouldn't they be destroyed?" asked Bashir, his eyes fixed on the device in his hand.

"Eventually. But if someone on my staff hid them I'd like to know who." He picked up one instrument, rather bulky and awkward to hold with the attached power pack. He looked at Bashir, and his damaged leg thoughtfully. "And perhaps for a few other reasons." He put the device down, still looking at the leg. "But you're right. We have to get going. I have to get these back into the inner cave area. Just wait here."

The two men's eyes met. Bashir took the device he was holding and activated it. He ran it along his bad leg. The pain ceased. "Your going to need help. Don't worry about sorting it. We have to be back in less than an hour." He held the device in his hand, looking at it. Then he put it in his pocket.

Willman stared at him. "That stays here. Use it inside the cave, but leave it behind."

Bashir stood up, still a little unsteady because of his balance but he managed to pick-up one of the crates. Willman got the other. "Sure, but now we have to hurry."

He followed Willman into the cave. Just before Willman left he put the device in the box. As soon as he was out of view, he put it back in his pocket.

o0o

On the way back, making good time because his leg was free of pain for once, he wondered why he had taken the device. The risk was very real. But it was the first time since he had come to after the crash that he had not been in pain. He hadn't planned on taking it, but the relief was so enormous he couldn't stand the thought of it being destroyed. So he had stolen it, knowing it was his last chance.

He had noticed Willman holding the other instrument, watching him, and wondered if he had been tempted to use it to disable the damaged nerves. His own device simply blocked them for a time. But it was such a relief to be able to move freely that, for the moment, he didn't care how long the relief lasted. Perhaps Willman would give into the temptation, but for now, he would be able to sleep.

Willman had said nothing the entire way back, but just before they came into view of the settlement he stopped and turned.

"Limp," he said, looking at Bashir's leg.

"Thanks," said Bashir as he began to limp again. He would have to remember that.

o0o

By the time they arrived back for dinner, the serving area was almost deserted. The call for seconds had already been announced, and he and Willman got their food before it was gone. Willman headed towards one of the offices, and Bashir stood, trying to find Lonnie. But she was already gone. He was about to sit down by himself and hurry his dinner, but he heard someone calling his name.

It was Jadzia. He hadn't seen her for a long time. She was withdrawn, but oddly untouched by everything else.

They shared a table, exchanging small talk. Neither was very good at it, and he was in a hurry to finish, hoping for seconds. When he had the chance, he hurried up to the server for his second bowl.

When he returned, she was looking at him rather oddly. "I guess long walks agree with you. Your leg seems to be much improved."

He realized he had forgotten to limp. "I guess it's really limbered up," he said, trying to think of an excuse.

She didn't buy it. She looked him in the eyes, almost like the Jadzia he remembered would have with such a lame excuse. "Julian, I know what was there. Please, be very careful. There is a lot at stake. Don't ever forget the danger."

Her gaze saw right through him and he almost reached for the device to see if it was still there. But he kept himself from doing that. She was deadly serious. He realized that he had made a very big mistake and should do something about it before he couldn't stand to give up his secret.

She left soon after, looking him over as if she already could tell where it was hidden.

Walking back home, he stopped near the "box" and almost put the device inside. But he still was filled with a deep relief and euphoria. He just couldn't bring himself to do it quite yet. Tomorrow, he thought. He was barely going to be back before dark anyway.

o0o

Sisko was waiting for Willman. The doctor sat his food down and scooped up the minced bits at the bottom, largely "meat" but a few vegetables. Sisko waited. After a few bites, Willman said quietly, "They have quite a good selection. Damn, I wish I could use them. Something there that would make life liveable for Bashir in a way I never could. If it hadn't been so late, I was tempted to do it right there . . . . "

Sisko looked concerned. "They haven't been destroyed?"

"Not yet. It's too easy to get there from our residential area. I'm sure it was put there by people on my staff. I'd like to know who." Willman took a few more bites, and Sisko rolled the baseball around in his hand that he'd been playing with when Willman entered the office.

Sisko was still unhappy. "Doctor, you do understand the official policy is to find the contraband, not those who took it."

Willman ate a little more of his dinner. "Sir, I have no intention of turning them in. I just need to know who can be trusted. It's that simple."

Sisko stared at him with very hard eyes. "How do you propose to do this?" he asked.

Willman wasn't sure about that. He thought it would be possible to see who took an unscheduled walk to the cave. Or perhaps he could do another gathering expedition and mark them with something which would stain the culprits fingers. Then he'd destroy the things. And perhaps he'd have Bashir come that time, and they'd leave enough time to fix the damaged nerves.

He'd find some reasonable explanation for the records. Or he'd "treat" him on his own and take the credit. He doubted that Bashir would care how they managed it.

"I'll keep track of my people. I have some ideas."

It almost surprised him that Sisko bought it. His reputation as the fire breathing dragon must be better than he intended. But Sisko relented for the moment. "Just be careful. As soon as your spies know who put the stuff there it gets destroyed."

Willman shrugged. "Sure. I assume they'll check on it pretty quick. If not, I'll take care of it."

He finished the last of the soup. Sisko was still playing with the ball as he left.

When he passed the "box" he noticed someone was standing nearby. He hurried past so they wouldn't be scared off.

o0o

Lonnie had been working all afternoon on patient reports, and she was hoping to take a break for an early dinner. But it did not look like she was going to get one. Willman had always tried to keep up on things. But in the last few weeks, since he and Bashir had done the survey, he had gotten behind. His written reports were sloppy, the handwriting hard to read as if he had not really been paying attention. Oddly, he had done multiple blood work-ups on nearly everyone. She remembered what Julian had said, and it worried her terribly.

He had come into the office to sign some of the documents she had prepared, and she could not help but notice that he was hardly looking at them. He had always been very particular about that, reviewing everything on the document before he would sign it. The most he was doing was scanning them quickly, and some not even that. It was as if it didn't matter anymore.

To Lonnie, who knew him better than anyone in the department, he had not been himself since his trip to the hills, but recently others had started to notice. He had always been fair, even when the fairness had been to be hard on everyone. But he had been very inconsistent lately. He would snap at people over nothing, and nearly ignore other, much more serious things. She looked up and noticed he had stopped signing the documents, and was just sitting there, staring at one of them. "Is something wrong, Sir?" she asked cautiously.

He looked up, as if he'd just noticed her. "Look, why don't you get Bashir and get dinner. I've got more than enough to do here. Don't worry about hurrying back either. This is going to take a while."

For a moment she couldn't say anything. It wasn't the stern, often unforgiving Willman she heard, but the man she had come to know long before, that had been a substitute father, and who had abruptly disappeared when the Dominion had come. She missed him. But she heard something that he managed to hide in his official persona, a resignation and a hopelessness that scared her more then anything else she had seen.

She wanted to comment, but knew there was no point. "Thank you, Sir. I'll get him."

Willman looked up from the document he had started to read. "I need you back, though. I'm calling a meeting this evening."

She looked at him, curious. "But Sir, that's after curfew."

"I'll give out passes." He sounded very tired. "Top level staff only. Look, go enjoy dinner. Take a walk. Spend some off-duty time with your friend. No telling when you'll be too busy to be able to." He looked at her sadly. She fled the room.

o0o

She tapped on the door of the lab, waiting for permission to open it. Since the problem with the specimen, the rule had been that nobody opened that door without permission. Bashir, rather quietly, said to come in. She was already shaken by Willman's sudden change, and what she found unsettled her even more.

He was sitting at a table covered with specimens. He was doing some kind of mass screening and hardly heard her when she said she'd been told to take him to dinner. He pulled out the specimen he'd just been examining and slid the next one in place.

She sat next to him. "What are you looking for?" she asked.

"You might as well know now. It's going to be announced at tonight's meeting. We're screening for high anti-body counts."

"From what?" she asked, very tense.

"From what was on that specimen that almost got exposed a while ago. Something we've been tracking since before then."

She looked at him, and saw the same kind of resignation that she had seen in Willman. "What is it?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know. It's Theirs. It's been around for a while but nobody's actually gotten sick. Not yet anyway. But soon, if these tests hold. I'm just rechecking what we did before, just in case we missed something."

She had been anxious to go to dinner, but now she didn't have much appetite. There was another tap at the door. Willman asked why he was still there. Bashir explained. Willman looked at her, questioning. "I already told her," said Bashir. Willman nodded, and motioned him out of the chair.

"Look, I'll check the rest. I can't stand looking at another one of their damn reports."

Bashir hesitantly rose, walking a little stiffly, but better. He took Lonnie with him, half-dragging her out of the room. She had said nothing since he had explained, but looked rather pale. Getting their coats, he dragged her out of the hospital. They stopped at his quarters and he went inside his bedroom and closed the door. She waited, still very quiet. He came out in a few minutes, having changed his jacket.

She was sitting on the couch, staring at the wall. "I'm not hungry," she said.

"It doesn't matter. You're not skipping a meal." He said it like it was an order.

"Why?" she asked in a whisper.

"Because in a week," he said bitterly, "you may not have the time to go to dinner. It's a way they punish people."

She looked at him. "That bad?"

That evening the rest of the senior staff discovered what she had that afternoon.

o0o

She did not sleep well that night. She had lay in her bed for what felt like hours, trying to force away the dreams. There had been a glimpse of something, something terrible, that night with his old friend Dax standing by the pathway. She had buried it as she buried anything else that interfered with her being able to function. It was so vivid and horrible and so overwhelming she did not want to know what it was.

But she was exhausted from the stress and shock when Bashir had sat and announced their findings to the staff. There had been such silence. She had stumbled to dinner and eaten every bite, but didn't remember any of it. Just the look in his eyes that matched the one in Willman's so completely. Even he seemed to have felt something of the shockwave when he put it so bluntly, that there was an epidemic of unknown but non-local origin on the way and they must all be ready.

There being only one source of anything that wasn't "local" it was met with the absolute quiet of shock as the implications sunk in. Nobody, neither Willman or Bashir, had said a word until it had. Then Bashir continued, explaining the emergency care plan being developed and asking them for full support. They were admonished that the information, especially the source of the virus, was not to be revealed. Of course, people would guess but only eventually and by then there would be no need to panic.

No promises were made because nobody knew if they could be kept.

Willman had finished, his words with a little more encouragement. They were already experienced from the crash. They were all well trained and familiar with their new limits. Not everyone would survive, but everyone they could pull through would. It was up to them.

But she could tell they were thinking of how the horrible idea that the monsters kept out of sight in nightmares, the ones that came out of at night in your dreams but usually hid in the closet, were going to kill some of them soon. No weapons, no effort at all but the dead would still be dead. They knew that well enough from the small graveyard left by the Antelope.

Her dreams were haunted by oddly vivid images, of the hospital more full of patients than it had ever been before, of drifting through the day in an exhausted haze, of a room with bodies waiting to be removed. The images, dark and disturbing, danced in her head and she could not shake them. She woke with the residual memory of the last dream still in her mind, of being cold, and hungry and lost, and so tired . . . .

How soon?

The next afternoon, she did more reports. Willman was making a valiant effort to get caught up. He seemed more like the man she'd known before. It was important to maintain a reasonable facade for the others. But the task of finishing the records was no longer a boring way to pass an afternoon, but an unmistakable reminder of the deep darkness that she couldn't avoid knowing now that lay all around them.

o0o

It had been a very long day for Megan, several of the staff out sick. At first, inside, there was paranoia over each sneeze. But nobody had been that sick and everyone had gotten well. Since there had been few cases lately, everyone had been badly on edge all morning, suspicious of other more dangerous reasons for their absence. Even when the warehouse was being left alone the fear persisted. The long day finally over, she waited by the door for her escort to his rooms. She had left clothes there before so now she didn't tip anyone off about her plans. Darla knew, but that was so she could warn them if Megan disappeared. It wouldn't help them but it was better they be warned.

For just a moment when the door opened she froze, expecting the usual escort in his uniform. Instead, he was waiting for her himself. He'd already changed out of his uniform and it was odd with her in grey and him dressed casually.

"I hoped you hadn't changed your mind," he said. "I was getting a bit worried." He smiled, but they both knew the worry wasn't because of that.

"We have a couple sick staff. Seemed like it was done, but I guess not. It looks like we have a lot of staff, but we need everyone. We just can't lose two people in a day." She drooped a little, letting out the relief that the day was done. It was nice that she didn't have to play a scene for once. He stayed tense. She had been on edge all day and was hoping to be able to relax a little, but the little game they played must be done perfectly. She asked, her concern genuine, "Is everything okay?" Walking in front of him, they continued their conversation.

"Chele has it too, though not bad. Medical did every test you can imagine on her today. We keep her home until they clear her, Tanni too. I hope you don't catch it from her." He paused, speaking more softly. She remembered the child in her arms, too hot and too weak and how he'd saved her life. Even if Medical had cleared her as only a mild case, she would still worry until the child was recovered. But, apparently, that wasn't why he was so tense. "Nanny is staying tonight to keep an eye on her. Her fever was up pretty high today."

Megan forced away the nerves. It would complicate their charade but would give it more credence, too, if they could pull it off. She had her own warning to give, too. "Probably not. They were there yesterday, coughing and sneezing all day. I guess Medical isn't sure what it is but they don't sound worried." She sighed. "Sir wasn't there for the afternoon, some meeting, or I'm sure she would have sent them home before we all get sick." A brief, private look passed between them as he unlocked the door. Unexpected meetings were never good and both of them knew it.

Watching as he entered the code and it confirmed his identification, she realized how much she had looked forward to the evening. They could never forget someone could be watching, and sometimes it felt more like an ordeal than a friendship, but she decided tonight she would enjoy the evening, nanny or not. Their conversation sounded calm and normal to anyone listening as they came in the room. What had been a careful charade had shifted closer to reality. She had realized she missed him when she had to put up with Darla and the women, especially since all advancements which crossed the line past silver were now automatically disallowed. She had been lucky. But then, so were advancements out of your department, so luck was relative. But Darla had not been the only one who dreamed of a moment which would now never come and her grey suit was a constant reminder.

Without warning, Megan was rushed by the two children, babbling about everything she had missed. Even sick, Chele smiled and clung to her. The nanny stood back, just watching. She would complicate things, and they would have to play their parts carefully, but since she'd been spending time with him it had gotten much easier. The charade was not just an act anymore. It remained an unspoken pact between them, but now there was no backing down. Now, with the warehouse raids and the new policy on advancements, everyone was nervous. Since the flurry of surprise meetings, all the greysuits were worried. Even if she couldn't forget Darla's warnings that he couldn't save her, she did take a small comfort in the sharing, for most of all, they shared Chele and Tanni. She believed he loved them. Locked in that basement, the bond and the promise had given her reason to fight. Now, facing something even more desperate, it was growing ever stronger each time she held them.

Nanny had gone into the kitchen, not interfering with the reunion. Stepping out as the babbling finally slowed, Megan was greeted in the same unobtrusive and formal way she had always been. She smiled and returned the favor, playing her role, but needed to get away. "I should change," said Megan. Her clothes were in the spare room where the nanny was sleeping that night but she was directed to hurry since dinner was warming. She liked that they'd waited dinner for her, even having to warm it. You could even believe it wasn't all just actors on a stage if you looked past the pauses.

Blacksuits didn't have to eat communally in the serving rooms unless they chose to. The food was supplied prepared to order, but the small kitchens included a cooler for storing the leftovers for later meals and drinks and snacks as desired. There was an old-style electronic device to warm it. The nanny refereed to it as a microwave. Blacksuits might have had privileges, but they did not extend to getting replicators.

Megan changed out of her uniform, wondering if something might be planted in her things by tomorrow, and took out her night clothes and a few personal needs, bringing them with her in a small case. Sitting the case in the corner she noticed his look, and took her place at the table with the rest.

Dinner was good, not as fancy as the dining area, but the privacy was comfortable–or would have been minus the nanny. Everyone laughed at Chele's story of her visit to the doctor that day. She was quite good at telling all the details and the story was interrupted before her dinner got cold. Megan was enjoying herself so much by the end of dinner that she smiled and thanked the nanny for taking such good care of the children without having to think about it. He loaded the children's favorite video and they planted themselves on Megan to watch it. It had surprised her that the blacksuits had the same old systems as the silvers, but now she understood that CA was viewed as an experiment and only if it succeeded over time would it see more than the crude technology it had access to.

Bedtime came and the children followed nanny, but whined loudly. Chele kept complaining she was too old to go to bed that early. But she watched his eyes, softening as his children acted as children. They were the bright moments of his life. The promise had been a chore and obligation once to her, but seeing their faces as they laughed made all the pain worth it. The silence in the room that followed their leaving was enormous.

He sat next to her, sitting a box next to him, filled with discs. Fishing around he found the one he wanted. "Have you seen this one?" he asked. "It comes recommended."

With so little to do at night in the small rooms, they had watched every video they could borrow. She'd seen it and it was a favorite. But the play would go on. "Yes, I've heard its good," she replied. He moved closer after loading it, but kept hands off. She felt oddly relaxed, watching something she'd seen three times already but as if she'd never seen it before. The sound was low and everything quiet. He'd turned down the lights and she found herself relaxing and moving closer. She didn't know if she was playing her part or just liked the feeling, but didn't especially care either. When it ended he brought her a small glass of wine, and sat next to her, offering a toast. "To your promotion, even if we're a little late," he said.

Wine was rare and special, and only a few could obtain it. She sipped and they touched glasses. It was good wine. With the bottle sitting in plain view with a spy in the other room she at least was sure it was legal.

But the time could only be put off for so long. "I'm sorry about the room," he said, mostly for the nanny's sake. "The doctor wants someone with her tonight."

"Certainly," she said, knowing it was bad timing which became a convenient excuse. The next act had to start eventually. He was leaving when up to her, but she could let it begin or go home. "I don't think we need separate rooms now."

She envisioned the nanny listening. He filled their glasses a little more, then put away the bottle. "If you're sure," he said.

"Quite sure," she replied, and knowing he was all that lay between her and eventual disaster, a hard cold calm filled her. But the children were close and now, perhaps, she could even keep her promise to their mother.

He sipped his glass, Megan doing the same. The wine was relaxing her. There was very little of it, no danger of inebriation. She took his glass when he finished and rinsed them in the sink, picking up her case.

The look that passed between them was more than a deal and less than a rendevous. Following him inside the room, he retreated into the bathroom, while she picked out what she needed from the case. She was exhausted now, the day almost done, and just wanted to sleep. He returned and yawned.

"I forgot my robe," she said.

He pulled one out of his closet, handing it to her. "Be my guest," and she could see how tired he looked. He was letting down the mask now, something he'd never really done.

"Thank you," she replied, and a little of the fear slipped out.

He came towards her, putting his arms around her, holding her. "I'm very glad you're here."

She wouldn't be if it wasn't for the promotion, which might or might not save her. But she liked the closeness. Most of all she liked not being alone in her nightmare. "Me too," she said.

She showered, enjoying the luxury. His was far nicer than the one in her building. She slipped on her night clothes, and then his robe. He was already in bed, pulling back the covers for her. Pulling off the robe, the room had cooled down with the automatic settings all the buildings shared.

She slipped in, wondering what happened next, but he just took her hand. "Can I hold you?" he asked. "That's all."

In answer, without even thinking she moved closer pulling his hand around her.

Settling against him, he whispered very quietly that she–nanny–would not be there tomorrow night. She should get more of her clothes and bring them to work at lunch. He would make space with his.

She didn't remember falling asleep, but woke later with his arm still around her, and snuggled closer, allowing herself to enjoy the moment. They had used each other but now the stakes were so much bigger. Two small children were standing between them now. Everything was different. He stirred, relaxing against her and Megan let go of everything but the comfort of the moment and wished it could go on forever.

end, Legacy, Year 1, part 1-4, Chapter 18


	20. Part 4Interesting Times Chapter 19

LEGACY

An Alternate History of the Dominion War

Year 1 - Innocence

Part 4- Interesting Times

Chapter 19

Justin Blanchard stared out the window, watching the early dawn. Everybody knew about Willman's meeting several days before. He'd called his whole staff in after curfew, giving all of them night passes, and since then all of them looked glum. One of his aides had cut himself and had to go for treatment, and came back telling everyone about how they all sounded like they were going to a funeral.

It worried Justin. Willman probably had some problem with the staff and overreacted as usual, but Willman had treated his aide. He'd taken a blood sample, too. The aide had remarked that the doctor was as glum as the rest.

What if it wasn't just an overblown problem? What if he knew something he wasn't sharing?

Did they have a changeling hiding among them? Was there a traitor who was expecting favors from the ships above if he betrayed the rest?

Justin wished they could have skipped the days adventure. Things were too tense and the risk was too high. But he and Jaro had messed up the last test. If they didn't try again now, there might not be another chance.

Jaro knocked on his door, entering silently. "The doctor is looking for those who wish to train as medics. He especially wants anyone with training. Why now? Why not before harvest and winter prep, with all the injuries?"

"He expects they will be needed. I know the man well enough."

Jaro was nervous. "Should we do this? Is it worth the risk?"

Justin had wondered the same thing, but chose to put aside the fears. "We must. It could be our last opportunity."

Jaro was plainly spooked by Willman's sudden odd behavior. "Perhaps it no longer matters."

"Then we must go ahead."

Jaro was still hesitant, but picked up Justin's coat and handed it to him. "Then we must get to breakfast soon."

The plan was simple, drawn on the same model as the last expedition. First, they would take breakfast in the warehouse. Then, returning to their lab, they'd wait until the appointed time. Zale had left a short note in Jaro's jacket the day before confirming the time and place. And when the time came, they'd slip into the hills again for the next part of their test.

Zale was waiting when they met him at a small cave. He would be their lookout. None of his cooperative friends knew of the days events, so none could betray it.

Today's task could not be rushed. They had hurried too fast before, not taking the proper care that things be done correctly. This time the mixture *had* to be perfect. Neither was willing to chance a third test.

This time the measurements would be double checked, and rechecked at each stage of the project. They could not waste time, but with all the care that must be taken it would use up the whole afternoon.

But they had scarcely poked their heads out of the lab for the last few weeks, and if nobody saw them from morning to very late in the evening it would not be much of a surprise. Their aides had been warned that they should wait on meals and strict orders that they were not to be disturbed were in place.

Jaro slipped into the small cave first, Justin checking the pathway for signs of traffic. It was mostly rock, so footprints were not noticeable. Zale found a hiding place far enough away he could see the path without drawing attention to the cave, and made sure the bush that covered the entrance was in place after Blanchard slipped inside.

Jaro already had everything in place. He'd put the chemicals as near the opening as possible, the only ventilation in the small cave. It would be a problem, but there was too much risk of discovery if they tried it in the open. Justin had brought along the one mask he had been able to hide in figures, hoping it would help enough.

They stared working immediately. As soon as the chemicals were opened, the musty scent of the cave disappeared in the mixture of vague odors, but it wasn't bad.

Justin elected to wear the mask, working in the deep end of the cave where the ventilation was the poorest. Jaro was nearest the cave's opening, a small breeze diluting the fumes.

At first, there was little problem. The first few mixtures had a minor odor, and required little handling. They were the inert basis of the formula that kept it from leeching out of the soil.

Tarlan peaked out periodically, taking a breath of fresh air and simply keeping watch. Justin struggled with the hot mask, but put up with it.

But the cave was near a warm underground creek, and it was getting hot. Justin tried to work with the mask, but it made it hard to see what he was doing. Reluctantly, he pulled it off, intending to wear it again, later, after he'd cooled off a bit.

The next step was more complicated, mixing several chemicals together outside the machine and adding the mixture. They were combined in a basin. The stench filled the cave. Justin tried the mask again, but it was still too hard to see with it on. His head was already pounding, and his throat burned. Neither spoke, but Jaro was breathing rather hard, coughing a little now and then.

Jaro slipped out, standing in the tree, and came back in. He moved to Justin, taking his hand.

"My turn. Go outside and clear your lungs."

But Justin could feel the tightness in his chest. His ears were ringing and the headache was overpowering. A few clean breaths wasn't going to fix it. "No. Take care with yourself. I must do this myself.'

Jaro hovered for a minute, but relented. Justin stopped a cough, breathing hard for a moment while he regained his breath.

He sampled the mixture as he proceeded, and this time it was right. Jaro edged closer to the cave's opening as the full force of the noxious odor filled the cave.

Justin couldn't smell it. He couldn't smell anything, and his lungs were starting to ache. He managed to put off the coughing until later, when it wouldn't ruin the work.

He didn't bother with the mask. It was too late for it to help anymore anyway.

When the mixture was complete, Jaro moved forward, handing Justin the funnel with which they would fill the machine. There had been an automatic system, but that required too much work to build. Justin almost collapsed when he allowed himself to sit, holding the funnel firmly in place.

Jaro would pour in the mixture. Justin pointed at the mask, hoping Jaro could be spared the intense burning. To his relief, Jaro put it on while he scooped the first stage of the mix into the machine.

It was after that that disaster struck. A second mix was created with a slightly different composition, and it floated on the surface of the other until it mixed as it dispersed. This was the moment of final reaction where the harshest acids were formed.

They needed two basins, but there was only one. Jaro made Justin sit by the cave entrance while he sponged out the last sludge of the mixture, but it was impossible to get it all. This slight contamination had been figured in the mix, but the fumes it produced would be terrible.

They dragged the machine and the basin as close to the entrance as they could. Justin made sure that Jaro had the mask fit right, and let him do the mix. But as the chemicals combined a faint gas was released, and Jaro had to take frequent gulps of outside air to finish.

Justin held the funnel while Jaro filled the machine. Once, suppressing a cough, he nearly dropped it. Jaro stopped before he was done and discarded the mask, its filtering already contaminated. It was done. The machine was capped so no more of the stench could escape. Jaro dragged Justin outside, risking discovery, and both collapsed by the rock.

They stayed for a little while. Their clothes were contaminated, and they changed to the clean ones they'd brought for the purpose.

They didn't have to be back for awhile. Justin was exhausted, but the clear air made it easier to breath. His lungs hurt, and his head pounded, but he could make it home.

By late afternoon, they were well enough to go home. Zale disappeared after reaching the cave they'd met at, and they slipped unnoticed into the lab. After showering, they collapsed on the cots Justin had put in a side room for those nights when work went past curfew.

It would look bad if they didn't get dinner, so Justin had an aide retrieve their meals. But neither could stand to eat. The bowls were dumped, and they went to sleep.

In the morning, Jaro looked pale and his head hurt a great deal. His throat burned and he couldn't eat more than a few sips of the breakfast brought to them. Justin had already developed a hacking cough and did not touch his breakfast. He could not get enough breath.

The test would be done in one week. Both men were too ill to try any sooner. It could have raised questions neither could answer, but at the time nobody noticed. In an odd irony, the arrival of the first cases of the first Dominion virus saved them from immediate discovery.

o0o

Less than a week after Willman's meeting, the first distinctive case of a respiratory virus which did not match any known cause was formally discovered. Slowly, the pattern of the disease emerged. It began with a sudden, severe illness, with fever and breathing problems from swollen tissues. This stage lasted only a few days-in most cases, at least, and was replaced by a cold- like period which resembled a severe cold. Then came the final, most debilitating part, when the body rid itself of the still hidden virus in the tissues, and there was sudden weakness and great aches.

The first few cases were going to recover. One of them had been tracked and worked in supply. Willman assumed he'd been contaminated early, possibly when the first exposure had occurred. These first cases were cared for in the isolation area set up at the hospital. The final stage also left patients more vulnerable to chance infections. Later isolation wouldn't be possible, and opportunistic infection was going to be the greatest danger.

There hadn't been a lot of cases, and Willman had asked Bashir to the lab to discuss what they knew.

Bashir sat on a chair with his leg propped up on a stool. He looked drawn and exhausted. Willman didn't want to know how bad he looked. "So far, we're pretty lucky," said Willman.

"So far," said Bashir. "For most it's relatively mild. The recovery time will be extended, but this winter that should be manageably." He paused, his face grim. "They wouldn't want the slaves not able to work come spring."

Willman chose not to comment, but he agreed with the sentiment. Eventually, the ones who survived the epidemic would figure out what they were. "For most, unfortunately not all."

"Class two reactions," said Bashir as he recorded the notes. "Susceptible patients are those already ill, the very young, or simply *susceptible*." He put down the pen. "Chosen for removal," he muttered.

"Why?" asked Willman.

"Some genetic quality they wish to eliminate." Bashir picked up the pen and sat it down. "They created the Vorta and Jem'Hadar from creatures they found useful. Why not use us the same way?"

Willman wished for the Cardassians. They had been vicious, but far more direct. People would have not dared take the chances they had with the Dominion's distant, velvet chains.

"I suppose we should get back to our notes," he said.

"Symptoms of class two reactions," said Bashir as he wrote the words.

Willman followed. "Intense, sustained fever that appears to be un-treatable. A progressive infection that begins in the sinus cavities, spreading to the bronchial tubes and then into the lungs. The final stage is pneumonia, the only cases so far likely to recover. But permanent damage has occurred to the lungs, and the patient will become easily susceptible to other respitory illness."

Bashir opened his mouth to say something but stopped. Willman hoped he wouldn't have to ask him to keep the comments to himself. Willman simply couldn't deal with it anymore.

Bashir finished recording the notes. "That sums up what we know so far," he said.

"We'll need better procedures when the main epidemic hits," said Willman, nodding. "Normal shifts will be suspended and staff will be required to work as long as possible. We don't have enough staff and I should have started finding medical techs a long time ago."

"A lot can be done without training," said Bashir. "We might want people to deliver food to those who've recovered so they can rest, and just generally help where they can."

Willman stared at his leg. "How are *you* doing?"

Bashir hesitated a little. "Better. Or maybe I'm just used to the pain."

But he looked at Bashir with curiosity. Aside from the exhaustion, he didn't seem as bad. He was experienced in emergencies. Perhaps he had chosen to ignore the pain. Willman certainly hoped that was it. As soon as they could, he was going to schedule another casaba trip, one with plenty of time to spend in the grove, and he'd make short work of the pain for him. He deserved it. After the disease, Willman was willing to take the risk. Despite Sisko's worries about the hidden stash in the cave, he wasn't in any hurry to destroy it either. And he really didn't want to know who'd put it there.

He could even forgive Blanchard a little. Both he and the Bajoran were showing signs of the disease anyway. Maybe it would keep them safely in their lab testing plants.

o0o

Bashir rubbed his eyes, loosening the brace as he propped his leg on a pile of pillows. He'd practically fallen asleep that morning, and Willman had sent him home for a rest. He was to be back in four hours. That was all the time that could be spared.

The respite had been very brief. The day after their meeting the hospital was swarmed with patients. Most were mildly sick, and once that was confirmed were sent home for their families to care for. But there were too many others who weren't. Nobody had died yet, but there was plenty of time for that.

As he was the expert, Lonnie had been given charge of the home care unit. Some of the people were trained and some weren't, but they brought food, made sure someone could care for the sick, and sometimes took children home that parents couldn't care for.

A few were trained enough that they could check on the patients, and that was their sole duty. Anyone too sick to be at home would be moved to the hospital, but it was already full. The staff had been augmented by volunteers who did whatever they were told, from washing patients to sheets.

But the staff was still taking the brunt of the work. Lonnie had fallen asleep in her chair that evening, having worked all day and then half the night. She was officially knowledgeably enough to treat the milder cases, so she did double duty, along with her home care people. But she looked pale and tired and hardly said a word to anyone.

He could tell the difference between his own surviving staff and the rest. The short war with the Klingons had toughened them. Lonnie and the others were having a harder time of it because they'd never been in this place. Even at the beginning, with the hospital filled with the injured from the Antelope, so many had never really had a chance.

He didn't want to get up. He was too tired to really sleep. His leg throbbed even without removing the brace. But he *had* to. Over a hundred dead were still owed their revenge.

But he could make the pain go away. The device from the cave had been carefully hidden away, and he'd promised himself he would leave it alone. But when he'd worked too many hours and his leg was on fire and he had to sleep somehow, it made the difference.

He only used it before he slept. The sudden rush of relief was enough to send him into a deep sleep. He never used it before a shift, worried that someone would notice. But the effect had not entirely worn off when he woke from his short rests. His walk would not be noticeable that way. He knew the danger of keeping the device, but could not bring himself to let it be destroyed. Daily, he worked for hours treating people sick with a virus with which they had been deliberately infected, and he could not express the fury inside him. If he had to break Their rules to save Their victims, he'd do it.

Later, when the epidemic was done, he might put it in the box. But now, each time he made the pain melt away, he knew a satisfaction that no danger could erase.

o0o

While the epidemic was just beginning to rage, another disaster befell them, one that would be remembered in nightmares for years to come to those closest to it. Miles remembered it in sharp clarity for a long time, even its beginning.

Cary Larson stood in his office looking frustrated, playing with his jacket as he talked, "It's done, all of it, except for that one big rock. So far nothing has worked. Letting the freeze crack it will help, but it's still going to be real hard to get out."

Miles had an idea, and even if it was farfetched he wondered if it might help. "The Ag people have some high acid chemicals they were left as fertilizer. Could you extract enough acid to break down the rock?" Miles had had another idea as well, but that had been destroyed with the illegal equipment, which made it about as practical as most of the ideas they'd had.

Larson nodded. "That might help. I'll talk to them."

Miles would never forget the next moment, as Willman pushed open the door uninvited. His eyes communicated the urgency of his mission perfectly, as well as the desperation. He looked at Miles, then Larson. "Cary, I think we're done. Why don't you go?" Larson got the message and hurried out of the room.

Willman didn't move from the doorway. "You've got to go *now*. They took off this morning but they were spotted this time. I've got someone following them, and your guide is outside."

Miles was already getting his coat, his heart pounding with anticipation. "What about Jadzia?" he asked hurriedly.

"She left already," he said as Miles hurried out the door.

o0o

Sisko stared at Willman, digesting what he'd said. "You should have at least warned me." He wasn't sure if he wanted to chew out Willman for taking matters in his own hands, or thank him. He didn't really want to think about the possibility that they might actually catch Blanchard and his friend this time. He hoped that Willman's quick action might be in time to stop them before they could do whatever they were planning.

Willman looked at him impatiently. "There wasn't time. They were seen, and we could follow them. What did you want me to do, just let them go? Remember what you said the other night about the Vorta and that warning he gave you?"

Sisko replied steadily, "I haven't forgotten."

The day before the first active case of the virus, the Vorta had called for an audience. There hadn't been any point to anything that was said except the last part, which had been unusually straight forward. After the "official business" was done, Glebaroun had ceased to look bored. "These things could be a lot simpler if we didn't need that sort of fill," he said offhandedly. "But just in case I've not been clear before, you must get better control over your people. The contraband and the subversion must end now. I can't protect you forever."

Sisko had been thinking about that ever since. All he'd felt at the time was an intense hatred for the people who had exposed his own to the unknown virus. And the first cases had just made the frustration worse. But the warning had been inescapable. Whatever experiment they were conducting with the virus wasn't in response to the problems. The Jem'Hadar would be the result of that. Blanchard was playing with the lives of everyone on Cyrus.

"We have to *stop* them Ben. Whatever it takes. I don't like it any better than you do."

"I know. And I know what has to happen if it comes to that. I'd prefer to believe that we avoid that possibility, if you don't mind," Sisko snapped at him.

Willman was too tired to react. "I've got to get back. If you've got anyone who could help feed people or move them I'd be grateful. I won't have enough people in a few days to treat the patients, let alone do other things."

"Okay, I'll see what I can do. Look, thanks. I guess this thing will be over soon, one way or another."

o0o

Willman stood on the rise that overlooked the hospital, the biting chill in the air matching his mood perfectly. He wished Miles and Jadzia luck, but was no longer sure what that would be. Somehow, the experiment had to be stopped. If the worse it came to was finding and destroying the hidden equipment he would be relieved. But he feared that Sisko's worse nightmare would come true and they would be caught in the act. Blanchard and Tarlan would be turned over to the Vorta because there was no other option.

But they would never know if that was enough, if the Jem'Hadar would come anyway. And should they stay away, the control would be that much more complete. Any incident, even a small one, could bring them. He knew what that kind of fear could drive one to do. He had already paid in lost friends and isolation. He didn't want anyone else to be driven to that.

The virus had not yet killed, but it would. It would be selective in its victims. He wondered if the pattern would be obvious or if they would be culled on some unfathomable basis that only time might reveal. The coldness of it had changed everything. Once, he had thought Blanchard responsible, but he knew it was not that simple. It was a method of control, manipulation, and preparation for *something*, one they could neither resist or avoid.

He had been thinking about Blanchard and his test. In any other circumstances it might be a great achievement. But They had twisted it into a thing of fear. He didn't know if the test would succeed but if they managed to survive this, he would shield Tarlan and his friend. It wouldn't bring back the man named Willy, but at least he'd feel a little more like him.

o0o

Dax was hunkered down behind a rock. At a distance, there was the sound of movement, but they couldn't see anything without being observed. The smell of the chemicals wafted on the breeze. It was too late to stop them now. The only option was to try to catch the guilty.

Miles, sitting on the small rock behind the little rise where they were hidden, was trying to tell himself it would work out somehow, but hadn't convinced himself yet. They had sent the guides forward to see if they could get near without alerting the two men. The land was rather flat in the area, and it was going to be difficult at best.

But both were roused from their thoughts by a shout. A voice, very loud, was giving a warning. It wasn't one of the guides. He was moving around beyond the small dune between them and the experiment. He knew the terrain. As they moved toward the noise, Miles heard one of the guides shout, "I got him."

Miles had a terrible sinking feeling. What would they do with him now that they had him? Dax was in front and he couldn't see her face, but she looked very tense. Rounding a small bolder, he came upon the lookout, now face down on the ground with his hands tied, unresisting, and one of the guides watching him. He looked at Miles. "Bring him along, I guess." The guide pulled the young man to his feet and ordered him to walk. Jadzia had gone ahead, but Miles stayed behind them. He recognized the man, though not by name. He had spent every afternoon sitting at the same spot on the deck for months. Watching, though Miles, grimly, as he followed the guide and their stumbling prisoner to the test site.

The prisoner was told to sit, with all three guides watching. The others were gone, having slipped around a small rock to a pathway. One of the men walked around the rock. Coming back he was in no hurry. "They could have taken any of three or four paths back, and there's no way to tell." It was obvious that nobody was in much of a mood to go after them anyway.

o0o

Jadzia and two of the guides had gone, taking their prisoner, and Miles and his guide had stayed to survey the scene of the crime. It was easy to see what they were doing this time. The terraformed site was obvious, the machine sitting nearby connected with a long pipe to the test area. The pipe had been connected to one buried in the ground, which had been drawn out as the fluid was allowed to soak in. It left a hole in the middle. Miles thought to himself that it was rather ingenious. He guessed that they had come up with some simplified system. It was ashamed they had to do it secretly. It was not until he tried to move the machine out of the way that the test and his problem with the rock became connected.

The machine had more of the fluid in it. He had an idea, assuming the remaining guide would not be a problem. He looked around for a container that would seal. There were several empty containers they had probably intended to use for samples. The guide returned, just as Miles finished positioning one of them under the nozzle of the machine. He stopped, looking curiously at Miles. He had worked on the mud channel and lived in the area that would get inundated first if the rock remained. Miles took a chance on his cooperating. He looked at the test then the guide. "You know, I bet this would break up that rock."

He stood still, looking at the test and the container. Finally he said, softly, "I bet it would. Or at least make it possible for us to break it. How much is in there?"

Miles shrugged. "Enough, at least it looks like it."

The guide moved the container so it would be more stable and motioned for Miles to start the machine. A thick dark liquid poured out into the container. It had a strong chemical smell. They filled both containers. There was a little left in the machine, which they would soon destroy.

They were concerned about burning that much of the chemical. Miles turned on the machine again, emptying the rest onto the test site.

They dragged the machine far enough away it wouldn't damage the test site, vowing to remember the location to see if it worked. He suspected They might discover if it did for themselves first. They filled the machine with the flammable substance and set a delayed fuse, taking the two heavy containers before it burned.

o0o

Zale sat on the cot, watching his captors. They had not touched him, not even to untie his hands. He had known that his mission could lead to this, but he had not really expected it to. They had planned so well. They had been so careful to not give themselves away. But even the best of plans can go wrong, and he had done his job. They had escaped. His warning had been in time, and that was why he watched. So, in a way, he had not failed.

But there was still danger. His captors were unsure of themselves. Faced with a prisoner, they had to decide if they could betray their own and give him to Them. He knew it would not change things. They could take him just as easily. But he almost hoped it would come to that. At least in his death would come their redemption.

They were talking among themselves, quietly, out of his hearing. Occasionally someone would look or gesture towards him. He wondered if they were desperate enough to hurt him. He didn't care. He was confident that he would not tell them who he had been helping and would not betray his friends.

Then a sudden, terrible thought struck him. Not to them, he thought. These were civilized people. They would not force him to talk. But he had heard stories about the Dominion, horrendous tales of how they could rip the memories out of your head without your even knowing. When the Dominion had him, he would tell. Not only would he betray Blanchard and Tarlan, but the friends who had helped the other times. For the first time, his confidence wavered and died.

It was about then that Sisko and Willman stepped forward, staring at him. He looked at them, still stunned by his sudden realization.

Willman looked at him, very sadly. "Mr. Zale, do you know what you've done?"

"An act of freedom." He tried to sound triumphant, but just sounded scared.

Sisko stepped forward, looking him in the eyes. "Do you have any idea what they were doing?"

"No. I never asked. I just watched." He told the truth. He could guess, but had never asked them directly. He'd heard about the terraforming experiment as they were dragging him back.

"And who are they?" Sisko asked.

Zale gathered his courage. "I don't know that either. I just watched. Somebody else got them there, and I don't know who."

"I don't believe you," said Willman. "Give us the names." But he didn't sound as if he really wanted to know.

Zale was nervous, but knew he really had nothing to fear from these men. It was the ones they would give him to that he worried about. He assumed they would have no choice in the matter. "Even if I knew I wouldn't tell you." He said it with conviction.

"We'll give you some time to think about that," said Willman, half-heartedly. The two men left the room, untying his hands and locking the door behind them. Hours later they came back and ask again, and he again refused. But this time they tried even less. He wondered how bad it would have been for them if he'd told.

o0o

The warehouse was still serving meals, but there was a strange quiet about it that evening. There hadn't been enough cases of the virus yet to keep people away, and they couldn't avoid close contact with each other anyway. But while the disease still cast a distant threat, the interrupted test was far too close a danger.

He had been resting in the staff lounge, a small room with a few cots, when Willman had gently shaken him awake. While Bashir was sitting up, Willman looked at him impatiently. "I want you to go get dinner now. I'll be gone a lot this evening and I'll need you here. And take Lonnie with you. Make sure she eats."

"How is she taking it?" asked Bashir, remembering how he she had reacted to the news of the virus.

"When the news came in, she went to lunch. Except she never made it there. She just went to her quarters." Bashir noted that he looked worried.

"I'll drag her along. I'll even make sure she gets seconds." He paused, wondering if he should ask. "Is it true that you have a prisoner?"

"Yes. One of Vance's aides, Zale, who was acting as a lookout. That's what we have to talk about tonight. I'll be back as soon as I can, but no promises."

Bashir nodded, thinking to himself that he would rather face a hospital full of virus patients than that decision. Willman looked completely exhausted, and it wasn't likely to get much better. "I'll manage. I've got the crutches. It helps."

Willman wasn't listening. "There's going to be a major crackdown on infractions after this. I hope it doesn't get too ugly. We've got to destroy those things as soon as we have an afternoon. With all the patients it will sound perfectly normal that we need more leaves." Then he stopped, looking at Bashir's leg. "And I want you to come. I might have a use for one before we burn it."

Bashir could see the bitterness in his eyes. On the surface, since the test had been discovered, he didn't dare cooperate. But he had to do something. The bulky tool would fix his leg. But when Willman looked for it he'd find the other one missing. Would he still be willing to take the risk after that?

He didn't dare put it in the box. Willman was checking on that. Any medical instruments that appeared were destroyed, but their presence was passed on to Willman. His device had been the only one of its kind in the box. He'd know who took it.

But he couldn't manage without it. When they went there, he'd have to find a way to get it back in the cave before Willman found it. But he had time. They had the epidemic to get through first.

o0o

Lonnie stared apathetically at the food, but ate it. He wasn't particularly hungry himself, but knew there might not be too many more chances to sit and eat quietly. Once the epidemic had gone it might be better, but nobody was willing to think that far into the future.

With the growing number of patients, and the expanding home care unit, food would be delivered to the hospital instead. They would have few chances to escape then, and even if the mood was as depressing here, it wasn't the same place.

The epidemic was still mild. Anytime, it might become widespread and they'd have no time to sit and eat even there. But he shut all that out.

Tonight, he would share some time with his friend. She'd been there for him too many times for him to abandon her now.

She'd been very quiet since news of the virus. She seldom talked to anyone. At lunch, she simply stared at her food while she ate and ignored everything else. Half the time she wasn't ready for dinner when he was and they were rushed to finish. She always looked tired as if she wasn't sleeping well. He knew Willman was worried about her, and he shared the concern.

She'd buried reality for a long time. But faced with a long line of sick from a disease sent to kill, it had floated to the surface. Since the late night meeting, everyone under Willman had been especially glum, but she'd wasn't coping so well anymore. She grasp at the regular routine, but it wasn't enough.

She reminded him too much of Jadzia, with her distant moods. He didn't want to see Lonnie break the same way.

Then had come the test, and final shattering of the illusion. Now, nobody could pretend anymore.

He understood that Willman needed her to be more alert and attentive. He would try.

The room was mostly deserted, so he felt safer starting a conversation. "I don't think its going to be as bad as we anticipated. That's something."

She didn't look up from her food. "You mean when They come?"

He'd run his own sickbay. He knew how to deal with that kind of attitude. Perhaps Willman thought it would be taken more readily from him. "I can't say. But now, we have a hospital full of patients who deserve the full attention and care of the staff, and they aren't getting it from you."

She looked at the few others in the building, sitting huddled in pairs, or groups. Nobody was alone. "I know. I just can't bear to look at them. How can They be so cold to us?"

"Because they are. Accept it and go on."

"Is that how you managed in that camp?" she asked quietly.

"Eventually." He thought about it. It hadn't taken long to get used to the place, as dismal as it was. The lack of hope had been the worst of it. She was expecting the Jem'Hadar to drop from the skies any time. When they did come, she would either learn to cope quickly or drift away.

"You had your secret signal," she said quietly. "How would it have been without that?"

They hadn't told him for a time. He'd wandered the grey dull corridors wondering if he'd die there. "Very hard. But you have to take each day as it comes. Tomorrow anything might happen, but do what you need to do today."

She played with her soup. "I have all the paperwork to do. He hardly even looks at it anymore. If I make a mistake, he won't notice." She took a bite of some mushy cubes at the bottom. When she was done she added with unexpected bitterness. "With each form I fill out I belong a little more to Them."

He understood. But she had to do it anyway. "Nobody likes reports. But it has to be done. At the end of the day, don't think of all the paperwork, but remember how much you did for your patients. That is what matters."

"I know. I think to myself that they survived *this*, but what about the next thing? What if the Jem'Hadar come and it was all for nothing?"

He looked her in the eyes. His voice hardened, thinking of how Tain clung to life and Martok somehow managed to put up with the beatings he took, so he could last another day. "It's never for nothing. The next thing doesn't exist yet so it doesn't matter."

"Live for today," she muttered into her soup. "When do you stop wondering about the future? All my life I've dreamed about what I'd have and what I could do. Now," she said, "now there's nothing but a black cloud that's always waiting."

He remembered the moment he realized that he was locked inside a prison far from home and nobody would even know he was gone. She was standing with him now. "It's not easy. But you can give up or just go on. And you can make a difference."

"Is that how you manage to stand the next thing, and the next until the one you don't make it through?"

He didn't take his eyes off her, as she turned to look at him, bitterness mixed with fear in her eyes. "Yes. It's the only way you can."

She must have seen the fear he could not hold back, since she looked up at him, the apathy gone. "But not alone," she said, taking his hand. He squeezed hers. There was no need for words.

o0o

Megan woke, the room dark and quiet, as she did so often of late, not sure where she was. But she could feel his warmth as he was pressed against her, and his arm was wrapped around her, cuddling her close. She held his hand and he sighed, pulling closer.

There was no way out anymore, for either of them. She stayed so often now that it seemed more like "home" than her own quarters. The children called her mommy. But he'd come home from his trip with a deeper shadow than before. The kids ran to him and he held them but she could see the fear.

He wouldn't tell her what had transpired. But he was too quiet and too nervous for it to be anything near good news.

She rolled on her back, feeling his body close to hers. They were not lovers. Everyone thought so as was intended but she missed him when she stayed in her own bed with Darla's dark looks for company. Darla was with Medical and they had so far behaved. She couldn't lose her bracelet now but didn't seem to care. Megan hated when she had to stay there, for the hints that she was heading for disaster with the lesion were too hard to ignore.

But what was she to do? Sir had been giving her much too much space of late. Things were still disappearing and she was sure that in some way Sir had something to do with it. The new people didn't know and didn't see the patterns but Megan could tell when she was using someone. They were expendable. Sir, she understood, looking into the terror he was hiding in his eyes, only thought she wasn't.

He slid next to her, his head resting on her chest. Without knowing it, she stroked his hair. It was short like all CA men wore, and neatly trimmed, but it was soft and she liked the way it felt against her palm. Still half-asleep, he slid himself across her, pinning her down in a gentle embrace. Her hand kept teasing his hair and he reached up and tousled hers.

"You shouldn't come anymore," he whispered. The nanny wasn't there, but she was spying on him. He had arraigned for Megan to stay with the children for the two days of his trip away. She had simply told Sir she needed two days off in a row and her second late hours would be over time. Sir had nodded and she doubted anything would be said if she never finished them. Sir was growing far too nervous for anyone's good. Megan wished things had moved a little faster and the failed transfer had gotten her away from the mine field her job had become. She had never told him of how deeply afraid she was, but now she understood that he understood. There was strange comfort in being able to share the fear neither could ever speak of.

"It's too late for that to help," she whispered back, barely audible, into his ear. She imagined something in the room to snoop on every word. If they heard it wouldn't make a difference in the end and it felt good to say it somehow.

"I'm endangering you. That was made very plain to me this last few days." He hesitated, as if he knew he was breaking their personal rules. But if he was willing to take the risk it must have been very bad.

"My job has already done that," she whispered back."

"It won't help, maybe but I have an idea. The transfer is still pending. They won't do it as we are now. But if you were my wife . . . . "

Megan thought of the way Darla had dreamed of losing the bracelet, how she was pragmatically planning how to advance past a lowly silver. Then suddenly she didn't talk about it anymore. She was content to stay quiet and unnoticed. She wasn't doing forms now, but simple patient care but did not seem like it had been her dream anymore. And the veiled, earnest cautious warnings to Megan, especially since she had gotten her grey suit, still chilled her. She didn't like being around Darla much anymore. She didn't have a choice but to come to him, and wondered if now she was already trapped.

"I told Sir I wanted the days off. She didn't even blink when she approved it. I knew her from before and that part hasn't changed." She didn't need to say that Sir didn't do that. He seemed to know a good deal about her already.

"We were looking for you when I picked you out. I didn't know about the kids. She had you on a list of people to find."

"I haven't recognized anyone else," she said.

"They were all men and they'd done a labor sweep already for them. You're all she got."

Megan could remember how pleased she'd been to have nice clothes and videos and clean sheets to sleep in. She could remember how she'd told herself she was only doing what she was told. Then one day, she would never know which, she had begun doing as she chose. That day, she was no different than Sir, or him. Or the others who were lying awake wondering what the penalty for failing was going to be.

She was doomed anyway, from whatever terrified him and her association or those deadly forms. And perhaps that she knew Sir was involved and had kept silent. Perhaps that alone was enough to make her a criminal. But she might have a margin of safety if she could get away from Sir.

"We should make it something official, like a special dinner. Special dress, all that. You ask, I say yes." She spoke in whispers, but he hushed them with a kiss.

"I accept your proposal," he said, but lightly, as if he was pushing all the darkness away for a little while. "And your right. I have things to do first, but in a week or so, and make up the time. No odd questions that way." The change from his lilting tease to the deadly serious words hardly shook the mood. He was sliding off his shirt, and she stopped her attempts at doing the same when she realized he wanted to be the one to undress her.

She was going to marry him, not for love but because they only had each other. But all that was being driven away by his hands as he rid them of their clothes. Megan couldn't define the comfort of the moment, or the sheer need for release of what had so long gone unacknowledged, but didn't try. Later, waking up entangled in his arms, the covers piled on top of them and their night clothes scattered, she didn't need to.

The nightmare would probably end in a worse one, but she would take what good moments she could to remember. If somehow they left them together, whatever the place they ended up, maybe it would be enough. She had sealed the deal the day she started using him, as he had her, and now it was all they had left to hope for.

He stirred, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, kissing her again, but he just held her. Darla had told her to live for today and now she understood. Cuddling close, feeling the warmth of his body against hers, she would try to remember this moment when all the lies were stripped away and nothing was left but the memories of a little joy to hold her together.

o0o

It was late in the evening when Willman knocked on Blanchard's door, a medkit in his hand. At the senior staff meeting held earlier in the evening, everyone had shown up except Blanchard, who had sent his chief aide. Embarrassed, the aide had explained that Blanchard was ill. The meeting had not lasted long, mostly dealing with ways to help during the epidemic, and an update on the situation with the test. But after everyone had left, Sisko had asked him to check on Blanchard and Tarlan. So he had assembled his instruments and made a house call.

He wasn't surprised that Tarlan answered the door. The Bajoran did not look all that healthy himself. "Mr. Tarlan, are you feeling well?" asked Willman politely.

"Somewhat fatigued," said Tarlan. He looked towards the bedroom. "I'm far more concerned with Justin than myself. He was only slightly ill this morning. He's become very ill since."

Following Tarlan towards Blanchard's room, Willman asked calmly, "Has he been out at all today?"

Tarlan seemed nervous, but aside from that was lying well. "No, I went for lunch late in the afternoon, but Justin didn't leave his bed."

Willman warned Blanchard that he was turning on the light, and Tarlan hurried in to check on him again. Willman decided that the concern, whatever the cause, was quite genuine.

There was ample reason for it. Blanchard was feverish, looking pale and apathetic, and Willman didn't have to take his temperature to tell how high it must be. His breathing was labored, wheezing now and then. Willman had brought the tricorder. He made no comment about what he found besides signs of the virus, but Blanchard had come down with it quiet recently. He had been exposed to something that had badly damaged his lungs as well, and that had immediately worsened its impact. Willman had a good idea of what that might be.

Tarlan would show the same traces of the contamination. But none of this was going to help Blanchard. He didn't stand much of a chance of surviving the virus if evidence of their acts turned up or not. In any case Willman had no plans to mention it.

He turned his attention to Tarlan. "He's got the virus, but you don't look well either. I'll need to examine you as well." Tarlan cooperated quite readily. He showed the same traces of chemical poisoning, but far less severe. And while he was sick, his Bajoran physiology was slowing down the active disease. He would likely have a far less severe case. Perhaps the Bajorans were less susceptible. He hoped that might be true, since he would need staff that could still work when things got bad.

"I should admit Blanchard, but I think he would be better off if he stayed here. He shouldn't require a lot of care, if you're up to watching him for a few days. Then I'll re-evaluate him and see what we need to do." Willman wanted Blanchard's other condition kept quiet for now, and he really wasn't up to being moved. There wasn't much that could be done, anyway. He would survive if he would, like anyone else not already in good health.

Unless they were one of those selected to be removed due to some tiny filament of DNA, he thought bitterly, vowing that somehow he'd try to keep Blanchard alive for as long as it would matter and shield Tarlan. He knew it would not keep Them away, not after the test, but without some spark of hope, some tiny act of defiance, he did not know if he could hide the bitter anger well enough, for as long as it was necessary. When that was done, perhaps he would welcome the moment all the hatred and anger could show and he could be free.

end, Legacy, Year 1, part 1-4, Chapter 19


	21. Part 4Interesting Times Chapter 20

LEGACY

An Alternate History of the Dominion War

Year 1 - Innocence

Part 4- Interesting Times

Chapter 20

The second meeting, this one involving only Sisko, Willman, O'Brien and Dax, was held well past midnight. Before, Sisko had again tried to question their prisoner. He just stared at him, saying he was just watching. He didn't know who was doing what. They could do whatever they wanted with him. He didn't care.

Sisko believed part of it. He didn't think the lookout knew about the experiment. But he most certainly did know who was conducting it. He had to have led them to the location.

But Sisko had just read Willman's latest scribbled report on the virus. Since the first cases two days before, there had been a steady increase in active cases. A few, Willman had noted cryptically, "did not follow the established pattern for the disease and were possibly fatal." He expressed worry for babies and small children and anyone already ill. Sisko knew it was the kind of act to be expected, but was still very bitter. With this deliberate act of murder, they were picking and choosing who should live. He did not feel inclined to push the unfortunate lookout to say anything more. Nor did he know if he could give him to the enemy either.

If Zale wasn't given up freely, They'd just take him. They could at any time. But this was a test he must pass if he was to be able to help anyone. Once they had Zale, they'd take Tarlan and Blanchard as well. Sisko didn't want to guess what came after that.

Willman was the first to arrive. He looked exhausted. He had been dividing his time between the incident and the outbreak of the virus. Sisko would have suggested a few hours sleep but doubted Willman would be able to sleep any more than himself. Before anyone had arrived, he looked up at Sisko and said very thoughtfully, "Blanchard's got the virus, and I believe it's the most serious form. I don't know if he's going to live anyway. Tarlan is taking care of him. You know, I've known Justin for a long time, and I don't think he ever had a friend that cared about him personally before. He and Walter were friends, of a sort, but I don't think Walter would do what his Bajoran friend is doing. Whatever he did it for, he's already given his life."

Sisko asked very quietly, "How many people is it going to kill?"

"I really don't know. But people like Blanchard are going to either die of the disease itself, or it's going to leave them so weak they'll die of something else in the next few months." He sighed. "How can we do it, Ben?"

Sisko began drumming his fingers on the table. He was very depressed. "How do we refuse? We give him up or They just take him."

Willman looked grimly at Sisko. "I know. They get him however we do it. But we don't have to *offer* him. If they ask, we will have to give. But we wait for them to ask."

Dax arrived during the conversation. She hadn't even sat down. "It's the only real option." She spoke carefully, neutrally, making an effort to make the conversation less emotional. She looked at them. "You have to be practical here."

Willman stared at her. "I was being practical," he said with irritation. "If I wasn't I would say we flatly refuse. But I know we can't do that." He continued to stare after she sat.

Sisko tried to calm things down. "Look, we all agree about that, whatever the motivation." Willman stopped staring and Dax looked away. "We're not all here yet anyway."

Dax said calmly. "Miles should be done soon. They are treating the rock."

"What?" asked Sisko.

"That rock that's blocked the mud channel. They found some of the terraforming fluid and are pouring it into the rock. Actually, if the process works at all it should break up the bolder before the mud hits, or at least make it possible to break it up." She looked at Willman, her expression softer, "At least some good will come of this disaster."

Sisko looked at the rest. "Maybe so, but that's strictly between ourselves." He fixed both with a gaze. "Nobody likes this, but it's here. We have to do the best we can to get through it. What we don't need are arguments between ourselves." He watched them, expecting and getting silence.

Miles arrived a few minutes later, his clothes dirty and with an odd smell. Nobody made any comments, letting Sisko handle the situation. "We've been discussing the problem," Sisko commented, "and I believe we have come up with a solution of sorts. Willy, will you?"

Willman repeated his idea, and Miles nodded. "Not much choice, really. Poor bastard." He stared at the table, finally looking up. "We destroyed the evidence, or at least made it useless." They were still waiting. "And I took the fluid left in the machine and dumped it in the rock."

He looked around the table, finding no surprise. "Do you think it will work?" asked Willman.

"I don't think they would have taken so many risks for something that didn't work," Miles said grimly.

"Does anyone have anything else to say?" asked Sisko. Nobody spoke. "Then go home and get some sleep. I have a feeling tomorrow may be a very long day for some of us."

o0o

Zale lay on the cot listening to the movement outside the door. They were changing guards. In an hour it would be quiet and dark outside, and it would be time. He had lay in this bed for two days, alone, without even being questioned. But he knew that was just an interlude; eventually They would take him. He was having trouble waiting. He had thought about it every minute of the day or night since he'd found the heavy piece of metal, once a blade off some machine, that they had missed in the dusty corner when the room had been cleaned out.

He had spent all his time sharpening the edge, hiding the area when the guards had checked on him or brought meals. It hadn't taken much and sometimes he wondered if one of them had left it deliberately. He used the metal edge of the bed, covering the scratches when he was being observed. And he thought about the details as well, hoping he could do it without crying out. They must not discover him early. What he planned should not take long.

And after four days, he was sure They were not going to wait anymore, and he was ready to deny them. He laid on his side, facing the wall, and loosened his coat and shirt. He felt the edge of his instrument, cutting his finger. He took the roll of material he'd made of the sheet and put it in his mouth to keep himself quiet. Holding the blade at the right angle, he told himself this was his only way out.

He held the point against his neck, just below the ear, suddenly scared of the pain. He thought of those he would betray should They take him and gathered his courage. Closing his eyes, concentrating on his hand, he pushed the point into his neck.

He bit hard on the roll of fabric, surprised by the pain, feeling the warm sticky blood already flowing down his arm. For a second he froze, just like that. He could not stop now; he would pass out and perhaps they would be able to save him. He was certain that once he'd lost conscienceless he'd make some sound that would bring them early. He had to carry it through.

Trying to forget the pain, remembering that he was doing this for others, he gripped the knife again, more difficult now since it was so wet with blood. He summoned all his strength, and pulled it down, tearing through muscle and into the soft tissues of the throat. He managed to pull the blade out of his neck, and panicked for a moment when the blood ran down his throat. But he was bleeding so heavily that the panic did not last long. He was very cold, and every bit of energy had left him. He pushed the wad of fabric out of his mouth with his tongue, and felt his arm with the blade still in his hand fall. He lay for a moment, growing colder and less coherent, finally fainting into a brief unconsciousness as he continued to bleed. He was dead within minutes.

o0o

He had just come on duty, and as usual looked in the room. Their prisoner appeared to be asleep, facing the wall. He wondered if Zale knew that Sisko had been contacted by the Vorta and the meeting that morning would seal his fate. He just stood there, wondering if he should wake him and issue some sort of warning. Maybe he could ask him if there was anything he wanted to pass on to friends, since it was his last chance. But, standing by the door, something caught his eye, something shiny on the floor. Cautiously, he entered, and proceeded into the room. Zale did not react. Looking towards the wall, along the floor, he stopped suddenly. Zale was not moving or breathing. And on the floor was a puddle of blood. Zale must have found the blade. He backed out, and ran to get someone to confirm that Zale was dead.

o0o

Willman arrived quickly, entering the room alone. He noted the blood on the floor, and a slight spraying of it on the wall as well. He turned Zale on his back, slowly and carefully. The neck was torn open, the sharpened metal strip still in his hand. There was a lot of blood, soaked into his clothes and the mattress. It hadn't been entirely painless, but he was certain it had been quick. Willman guessed he'd killed himself sometime during the night, from the state of the body. He left the room and closed the door.

Sisko was waiting outside. "I guess we don't have anyone to give them after all."

Willman noted the look of disbelief. "No, unless they want the body. It's quite a mess, but he went fast. Can't blame him, really. Better than Them getting him."

Sisko stumbled towards his office. Half his staff was sick and only the bare minimum was getting done. Willman stopped before they reached it. "I have to go, Ben. Bashir's sick and I don't have time for a conversation right now."

Sisko looked concerned. "Is he serious?"

"Probably not. It's hard to say with the initial stage. But he's going to be too sick to work for awhile and that's going to be very much a problem."

"What do we do with him?" Sisko pointed towards the room.

"I'll send somebody over here to get the body. I guess that it's over now."

"I suppose. I still have that meeting. I guess you should write up a statement on his death. I'll need something like that."

Willman followed Sisko into his office, the relief he'd felt already changing into shock. He wrote out the report Sisko needed. Sisko looked lost, and Willman wished he had the time to talk. But that wasn't possible now. He would see if he could find an hour in a few days.

o0o

Duncan looked out across the deck below and the valley across, now dotted with patches of snow. During the warmer months, the trees were pretty. Now they were giant shadows in the grey clad sky.

He went to all the right meetings but wished he didn't now. No matter what they did, they would be disciplined. He would too, for he was part of it. Once it would not have mattered much to him, for everything and everyone he knew and cared for were as good as dead. But now, all of that had changed.

Since the news of Zale had reached the offices, there was nothing but grim faces. When the Vorta was given his due and they executed the man, would the blood be on all of them or would it be on those who had abandoned him and used him alone?

Once, Duncan would have known, but he didn't anymore. Their "spy mission" was long done but Sarah stayed with him. Gija called him Daddy. He loved playing with the girl, for it gave him a reminder that somehow there had to be something in life but gloom.

Sarah had saved his life. Over the long, dank and grey winter that had befallen them, he could feel his fears slowly replaced by resignation that he was just holding back a tide. The ones in the sky were playing with them like Gija played with her doll. But Sarah had been around. She didn't say how or where, and he would never ask, but she took it all so calmly. When she "missed" curfew and ended up staying the night, she lightened his world.

He didn't think he could go on without her, or the child rapidly becoming his own.

She was beside him, watching the dark sky. "I hope Sisko sends him off. Sometimes you just have to make compromises."

"Either he does or they take him. Then they get to us."

She moved closer. "Eventually. But they should have already. You know that. I wonder why?"

The dead remains of the plants which covered everything where they'd brought water crunched under his feet. Next spring would be another ordeal keeping the destructive ones under control. He'd heard, unofficially, that it was another teraforming experiment. But Ag's lab was full of plants now which grew in the crumbly soil. It would be ironic, and rather tragic, he thought, if the whole reason for their doom was unnecessary.

She put her arm around him. He pulled her closer. "I'm afraid," he said. "I wasn't, or wasn't because there wasn't anyone to be afraid for, but now there is and I want those who brought us to this place to pay."

He thought of Gija, and how much she'd never know, even here. And how much more she'd lose when the skies fell.

"They will, some way. So will everyone else." Then she wrapped herself around him, taking his attention from the gloom around them. "It's harder for you. I learned what I learned off Earth, in a few places not too much better than this one. You go on if you have someone to go on for."

He'd lived in the world that thought it could go on forever, and if the war really was over wondered how different things were. "Maybe you were lucky."

"I don't know. Maybe." She kissed him. "But maybe we're more lucky together. Maybe you can teach Gija about dreams some day. I don't remember what they are. I just know that I wouldn't much care without the two of you."

"I want you with me," he said, even surprising himself. "All the time. Not later. Would you marry me?"

She hugged him tight and he held her close. But she hadn't given him an answer. "I'll bet if we hurry we can get the form to sign. I'd still want the priest, but we do that later."

"You're sure?" he asked. "They won't let you change your mind." He hadn't intended to ask her then, though he had had plans to ask. It just seemed necessary to know, then, so he wouldn't feel alone.

"As long as you are." She cuddled, but they made their way to Records, filling out the record that would state they were married immediately. Sisko would have to sign them for it to be official, but that would be a formality. Dropping it in Sisko's office to sign, their Director busy somewhere else, Duncan realized he really didn't want to wait, and he took an unaccustomed chance. With Gija and her doll and a bag of their clothes until they could officially move, he took her *home* for the first time. Walking in the door, he realized that life had changed forever. And no matter where it went or how it treated them, he would always have that moment to cherish.

o0o

Two days later Willman was sitting in Sisko's office again, officially giving a report on the spread of the virus, but both of them knew that wasn't the real reason. The office was deserted, more of his aides sick and now almost nothing being done, as it was in all the other departments.

"Well, if they wanted to know if we were susceptible, they have their answer," said Willman, not concealing the bitterness.

"Any deaths?" asked Sisko.

"Not yet. But I've got a few people who are just barely hanging on. All the symptom's are treatable. It's just for some they get out of hand and we can't treat them anymore."

"How's Bashir?" asked Sisko.

"He's fine. The fever's down and his breathing is better. He's not over it, but if he's doing this well now, he'll be okay. It's just going to take time. I'm sure when he gets back to work there will be plenty to do."

Sisko drummed his fingers on the table. "What about Blanchard?"

"He's hanging on, thought I'm not sure how. Tarlan's looking better, though. I think it effects the Bajoran's less. My Bajoran staff has been much less ill." Willman listened to Sisko's drumming. "Look, Ben. Stop that. How did it go with the Vorta?"

"He was disappointed. I got the impression he was going to read your report very closely," said Sisko, with emphasis on the last part.

"So, he thinks we helped him?" said Willman.

"He was suspicious. But I doubt Zale would have to have done it that way if we had."

"I'm sure someone did," said Willman. "Who cleaned it out? Your staff?"

Sisko gave him a warning look. "I didn't ask."

"Well, not that we'll ever know." He slumped a little. "Hard way to go."

"He didn't ask who had access to the shed, or who cleared it out, so I'm guessing it doesn't matter."

"Maybe we *should* have." Willman didn't look at Sisko when he said it. "We couldn't protect him, and I don't think anyone wanted them to get him."

"I can't get the thought out of my head," said Sisko slowly, "that we are responsible. If we'd been a little less *enthusiastic*, we could have found the test without finding anyone there."

"Looking at it now, that would have been preferable," admitted Willman. "But I don't think anyone's going to take that chance anymore. So, perhaps, Zale sacrificed himself for the rest of us."

Sisko sighed. "I got another warning. No more incidents, or tests or illegal experiments. And he mentioned the contraband, too." He had picked up the baseball and was rolling it in his hand. "He means business. I don't think it would have really mattered if we'd been a little late this time. As long as there are no more activities. Somehow, that has to be made clear to everybody."

Willman looked at him, quite seriously, "Look, Ben, once we caught him there was nothing else we could have done. In a way he saved us one hell of a decision."

Sisko said, wearily, "I know. I just wish we'd never have caught him in the first place. There would never have been a decision to make." He paused, playing with the baseball. "I will admit that I still don't know if I could have gone through with it."

Willman said nothing, but Sisko knew the man's calm was deceptive. After a long pause, he began slowly, "If you had, I would have stopped it. I have a hospital full of people who shouldn't be sick, and I think I'd have made them do their own dirty work. It wouldn't have changed anything, but it would have made me feel a lot better."

"I think I would have too."

Sisko rolled the ball around and Willman excused himself.

One crisis had ended. The other was growing worse all the time.

o0o

In the five days since the first case of the virus, Bashir had been pushing himself to the limit. He worked until the pain got so bad he couldn't stand it, or he was simply too tired to go on. And as the patients got more numerous, the small instrument hidden in his quarters came to make all the difference. The staff did whatever was necessary. He was working with the most serious patients, those with severe respiratory problems long after the first stage of the disease, usually leading to pneumonia. They treated each symptom aggressively, and while a lot of them were still very weak, they were still alive. But it was going to take months for them to recover, and at any time they could contract something else. They were so weak that nearly anything would kill them. He hardly left the room, resting in the small staff room in between. Only when he was in too much pain or needed sleep too badly did he go home.

But that night he'd collapsed, and been sent home for a good night's sleep. He'd made the pain stop, and had gone to sleep immediately. When he didn't show up in the morning, Willman sent someone to check on him, and Willman himself came soon after.

Bashir was aware of who was there, despite the fever. He heard them talking though it did not make a lot of sense. But he was using most of his concentration on breathing. His throat was too swollen to swallow, and he was careful not to breath too deeply, which would set up a bout of coughing.

Willman's face swam into his vision, and he tried to listen to the doctor. Willman was leaving him here, with monitoring. That meant that he wasn't as bad off as some. But he didn't have the energy to listen, or to think. All he could think about was the act of taking each breath as if it was an ordeal.

o0o

It didn't seem like three days, but Willman assured him that's how long it had been. It had felt much longer to Bashir. All he could clearly remember was taking one careful breath at a time, and worrying that he would fall asleep and forget how. He had run a relatively high fever, but hadn't really known at the time. Willman assured him that his swelling had gotten no worse or he would have been inside the hospital. He was still feverish, but he felt mostly chills now. Wrapped in extra blankets, he was perfectly content to stay in bed. He had a bad headache, and noises were magnified, and his throat was still sore. But he wasn't having to remember to breath anymore. That had been the terrifying part. That part he would remember the longest.

He had tried to sit up in bed, but had immediately collapsed back onto his pillows and pulled the blankets over him. When he tried to raise his head, it pounded far worse than before. And he felt dizzy from weakness. He laid down again, in pure relief, and didn't try to argue with Willman when he ordered him to stay in bed for at least another two days.

He was allowed his bed for four days. But the next day the epidemic mushroomed into the disaster that Willman had originally predicted. Suddenly instead of a stream of new cases a day there were as many every hour. Both the staff and the facilities were instantly overwhelmed. Everyone who could stand was called in to help. Bashir went back to work, still feeling rather weak, and tried his best. But the last stage of the disease was starting, the most debilitating, and despite the emergency he was sent home again.

o0o

Bashir understood the cause. His body was killing off the last remnants of the virus hiding in the tissues, and it left him weak and tired. Being able to explain it did not make him feel any better as he dropped onto his bed after being sent home. He felt worse than he had before, hardly able to turn over without severe muscle and joint pains. When he'd arrived with Lonnie, she had removed his brace, and as a result his leg hurt as well, but he was too tired to do anything about it. Everywhere else hurt too much to notice.

He had been one of the lucky ones with relatively mild symptoms. That was the insidious nature of the disease. It left even those with mild cases vulnerable to any number of infections. Willman had ordered he stay in bed, and as part of her job Lonnie came by to tend him. She was never there long; she was just too busy. But she would do her best to cheer him up, and check all the proper things. Most of all, he just needed rest.

She also brought his food, very basically prepared soup that was largely broth. He was only now getting where he could swallow the solid parts. At first he hadn't been able to sit up, and she had fed him as well. But she didn't have the time, and he had managed to prop up his head far enough to sip his food. He felt guilty, with the others working so hard, and as much as he enjoyed her company, finding a way to eat on his own make him feel at least a little useful.

It was when she was gone that he thought of Elora, watching the red streaks grow darker and how hard she had fought to live long enough to deliver her child. Lying in his bed, so weak he could not leave it, he tried to take it in that this was the handiwork of the same creatures, and that he was their victum this time. That all of these people were being selectively given life or death from a distance. Of course, he passed. But Willman had a ward of those who would have to fight to survive. Those they were breeding out of the gene pool. He'd told Willman it was just how they were, but that had been before. Now it wasn't that easy. Now it was entirely too personal.

They knew. He remembered how little Jules had been so confused about the world around him, and how different it had been after he was "fixed". There had to have been a reason why the Jem'Hadar had left him there instead of sending him back to Deyos and his prison. Now he wondered, was he there to influence their newer and stronger and carefully genetically selected human being? Would they have other plans for him eventually?

If they did, he knew, it would be as distant and hidden as this one. Exhausted, he drifted off to sleep wondering if his father would have done it if he'd known the future he was making for his son.

o0o

Catherine was sobbing, her grief uncontrolled and raw, as Jabara sat by her bed. She had recovered. She was one of the lucky ones who had been only mildly sick and was doing well. But she was pregnant, six months along. She could hear the heartbeat. She could feel the baby move inside her. She had survived but her child had not.

Her husband was lying in the ward where those with class two reactions were placed, unlikely to survive he was so ill. Catherine didn't know yet. But Jabara knew about the origins of the virus, and the connection. She held the women's hand, trying to calm her while a hard anger built inside and she knew she dare not show it.

Once one of the nurses on the station had held a movie night. One had been some sort of war story, the enemy brutal and all to familiar. But the second was subtle, glimpses of control and horror and clinical brutality. She had been thinking of it since the discovery of the virus. At least you knew who to hate with the Cardassians. At least there was a face to the enemy.

Catherine was calmer now, the sobs turning to whimpers and silence. Tears ran down her face but she was quiet now. "I can sleep," she whispered. Then she took Jabara's hand. "She, we'd named her. Her name was Tessie. Put that down on your form."

Jabara squeezed her hand. She would make sure the ashes were saved and labeled properly. "I will," she said softly. Catherine had rolled onto her side and the tears kept flowing but now she had to say good bye. In a few days there would be another but for now it was enough for her to know.

o0o

Megan woke that day feeling slightly less under a cloud than normal. She had breakfast and before she dressed for work, pulled out the blue dress, studying it carefully. It was better than a new one, for it meant something. She was never much for dress-up but she even liked the way it looked on her. And he most certainly did.

She had stayed there more than at "home", so nobody would notice she was packing her bag. She did not intend to come back if that was possible. They couldn't talk of it openly, but she would leave the dress with him at lunch and retrieve the rest of what she had left there the next day.

She hadn't slept well, not just missing him but with Darla and her looks. She wouldn't miss her company anymore. Over the long nearly two weeks since they had first really slept together, she missed the small comfort and escape it provided. Darla had ceased giving her advise, though she still issued her warnings.

She was having dinner with him that night, *the* dinner already plotted out and planned. Of course she would stay, they expected it now. She folded the dress and carefully stored the rest of her things for the evening, laying it on her bed. As she finished wrapping herself in grey, she wished it still meant more than it did. Since his days away and Sir's being called away for meetings of late, work was an increasing tense ordeal, even when there were no rumors, but now she spent her time with the other greysuits she heard more than she had before. And she watched Sir, as did every other person in the room, so they'd know if there was more going on. He would tell her if she asked, but she couldn't sit in her chair and fill out the forms that sustained their little hell that way. Sir watched her but she had no reason to fear Megan. But Megan knew that she had every reason to fear what Sir had done. She was doing almost nothing but third fills now. She knew they were legit, for Sir would never take the chance suspecting her as a spy. Month end had come conveniently and she had finished up her stack sparing others the task. There could be a mistake. There could be someone who was tired and didn't add right. It was still all too easy to bring disaster. Everything was done in time for Sir and her trusted to review it all before it left their custody.

The warehouse was run independently of the blacksuits now. They brought in recently captured pow's to work. Darla had explained. Things still went missing. Maybe the slave labor was even more susceptible to the deals the thieves could make. She suspected that Sir still did "special forms" but only by herself. She would eventually pay for it. The only thing Megan cared about was that she too did not pay.

He had been quite blunt the last dinner, after the kids were in bed and while they were play acting for the nanny's prying eyes. Later, alone, it wouldn't be but that was pleasure and they didn't mix that with the rest of their world. It wouldn't be long. He would get her out of supply if there was still time, but it must be soon. The paperwork was ready. Tonight she would officially seal the deal.

Darla noticed her slipping the dress into her things. She didn't warn her that he couldn't protect her anymore, since even Darla could see how now any chance was better than none. But Darla was still silver. Megan wished they had delayed her promotion long enough she still was too. When she shared lunch with him in the open room, other greysuits exchanged their fears. They weren't going care about the silvers. The silvers were just comfortable situated slaves. The ones who were "officially" CA were the ones who would be blamed and made examples of. Even the blacksuits. Maybe especially the blacksuits. But she had been tied to him from the first moment of using.

Darla was rubbing her bracelet. "If I don't see you again," she said.

Megan didn't want to go on past that thought. "I'm accepting his proposal." She knew Darla knew they were sleeping together and maybe to her, Megan had become a whore.

"I'll pack up your things if you need me too," she said shortly, finishing dressing and looking back with a look that made Megan hope she never had to return.

"Well, I accept and we'll still have to get married. Probably tomorrow. But I'd rather not be back here tonight."

Darla just ignored her. She had already crossed the line which now existed between silvers and those who weren't. She picked up her case and moved out the door, feeling a strange trepidation she hadn't before. Darla did hear things, more than some with her job. Did she know something others didn't? Was the game already up and they just didn't know it yet?

She walked out the door feeling as if she would never see the place again. It was an uncanny moment, one of those which had the feeling of certainty. Maybe since she was grey and would be marrying a blacksuit they'd give her different temporary quarters. She clung to that hope the whole way to her office, but knew it was only because otherwise she didn't know if she could manage to go inside.

She must not be late. Pushing past the feeling, she opened the door and walked inside. A flurry of thoughts ambushed her. Her hair needed a trim. She's gained a little weight and her jacket needed adjusting. Chele would run and hug her and call her mommy again and she'd melt inside. She forced herself to think of the evening and her salvation from this place when she entered the room and took her desk.

But something was wrong. She could feel the tension radiating around the room. Sir wasn't there. She always was there before official work time now. Lately she was usually earlier than most of the staff. But today the seat was empty, and the forms and samples had not even been set.

All Megan could think about was that certainty that she would never go back to her room again and the sharp edge of fear she had managed to ignore. Everyone else in the room was worried too, and if Darla had heard things, she wondered briefly if they also had.

But that moment ended very finally and she knew she had waited too long for salvation.

The door opened again, everyone hoping it was Sir. If she was this late something was terribly wrong. But it was one of the junior staff, visibly nervous. He glanced around the room. In a low voice he whispered words which chilled all of them. "They cleared the warehouse crew again, this morning. They just took them away as they arrived and put them in the transport, then took all the staff away. Not on that transport but somewhere else, an arrest not deportation." He took his seat, sitting without trying to cover the mood. "Warehouse is empty. There's nobody there, nobody brought in."

The silence became absolute. Raids were done with a procedure. They took one crew out but there would be another waiting. They didn't just didn't lock the doors. Even if they only had a small crew there would be shipments waiting to be filled. Their desks were covered with the paperwork. The paperwork didn't lie, *couldn't* lie. The system wouldn't be allowed to just grind to a halt.

Megan needed to do something. She tried to organize her desk but couldn't concentrate. There was one more of them who had not arrived. Everyone was watching the door as she entered, standing by her deserted desk and staring. Someone spoke quietly, "The warehouse crew," she started.

"I know," she whispered, slowly moving to her desk. "It's so quiet out there. Spooky."

Then the door locked. It was quite loud. There was no mistaking the sound anymore than the meaning. There were no more greysuits and silvers and blacksuits anymore. Just fear.

Megan told herself she hadn't done anything. Then, most of Warehouse hadn't either. In the silence, they sat behind forms and arraigned pens as if they would need them. She lined up her favorite pens and was placing the last one when the door burst open.

It was Jem'Hadar. They saw them so seldom now. But this one had his rifle pointed at them and she froze with the pen in her hand, her heart pounding and a loud roar in her head. "All in this room are to be detained," he said. Several other of them marched in. They held rifles trained on them as well, and the commander relaxed his. He held a stick, one like the CA security people carried, and pointed at one of the younger staff. "Stand," he ordered as the man stood uncertainly. "Exit through the door." Looking at no one he moved forward and out. From where she sat she could see him turn to the side and then disappear.

They sat. One at a time someone was pointed out and marched away. There were still most of the staff frozen in place as her turn came.

She didn't know how she managed to get her feet to move. But she stood, forcing her breathing to slow while the roar thudded in her head. At the door she took a deep breath, knowing there was no option but complying unless she wanted to die immediately. Then she stepped out.

A Jem'Hadar to the side pointed that she should turn with his rifle. She pivoted on her toe as her mother had taught her a long time before when she was a clumsy child. She tried to not look as afraid as she felt but did not have much time to worry about it.

Just past the door she was grabbed by the shoulders and shoved ahead, then to the floor, Falling, her hands were tied behind her back and she was blindfolded. Yanked to her feet, sick to her stomach and shaking, she was pushed at another guard, turning her away from the offices. She could tell by the way the floor changed. This one slammed her against the wall and she hit her head.

She felt fuzzy, as if she was about to fall asleep. She didn't think she could stand for long and as she crumpled forward, they let her fall. They picked her up roughly, dragging her and soon she knew only blackness.

o0o

Before, when it first began, life had been interrupted by the sickness, but the essential things were still being attempted. But when the virus had suddenly erupted into a general epidemic, and most of the population was sick with one stage or other of the disease, the established patterns of life had been wiped clean.

They would have to live without their reports for a little while. There was nobody to write them. Since Sisko had been confined to his bed, there was nobody well enough to sign them anyway. There were a few people who had not yet gotten sick, James among them, but they were being used to help the ill, delivering food to the doors of people who were too weak to get it themselves. The priorities had shifted. Anyone who could help was working to keep their own people more comfortable.

Nog had organized the food deliveries in the residential section. He and Rom, and a few other Ferengi fortunate that the virus didn't make them sick, had been working long hours taking care of their neighbors. Leeta, like many of the other Bajorans, had only a mild case, but she had come down with a secondary infection and Rom had been sent home to care for her.

Only that which was fundamental and necessary was still being done. There were no established jobs. People did what they could, for as long as they could manage. The greatest priorities were help at the hospital and food distribution. The food was kept to the simplest form of broth for most.

Surviving the virus itself was only the first victory. Secondary infections were increasingly common, some mild but others life threatening. And even if there was none, they faced a long recovery. The epidemic of the virus itself would be over soon, but it would leave behind a long legacy of misery. In years to come, it would be remembered as their first Winter.

o0o

Lonnie stood by the door, watching Willman as he stood over the bed. She could not quite take in his sudden metamorphosis. Since the outbreak of the virus, he had changed from the severe, stern man he had become to the one she had known when she first met him. He stood over Bashir, head bent over sharply so he could speak softly and hear whatever whisper Bashir was capable of making.

Lonnie had checked on him that morning, expecting him to be better. He had been steadily improving in the three days since he had been sent home to rest. But she found him feverish and incoherent, and quickly checked for an infection. A native fungal infection they'd found when they first came to Cyrus had covered the wound on his leg. The spores entered when the wound was fresh, and should the victum be weak enough would emerge. It was the most prevalent of the secondary infections, but also one of the most dangerous.

There was a ward dedicated to it and soon Julian would be joining them.

o0o

Waking, vaguely Megan could hear small sounds around her, moans, a scream somewhere, shuffling feet. Little flashes of awareness came and went. Lying on a cold hard floor, skin to solid smoothness. Naked, half on her side. Hands still tied, wrists bleeding, the sticky warm between her fingers. The throbbing of bruises and the stinging of cuts. Some deeper pain she could not identify.

Shifting her leg, caught in throbbing tension, she could feel the warm wetness, the stickiness, between her legs. Numbness was taking over. Memories blurred into a flash of scenes like the videos. A voice, demanding. "Who gave you the figures to record?" A sob, a whimper and pain. Screams. Her throat dry, lips bleeding, sore and raw and with no voice. Someone was screaming in the memory. Her? Someone else? Being flipped to her back, then her side, bruises fresh and the din of the thudding in her head. "What had you told him?" Voice gruff and mean and her whispered answer lost in the mist as she was pushed down, trapped, screaming, just screaming so loud she couldn't hear anything else and then again, in the silent room and the memory, nothing but welcome blackness.

o0o

As it spread the infection released toxins, as well, and patients could become violent, overcome with hallucinations. Movement could easily tear the effected skin, so they had to be sedated. But first, Willman was making a last ditch effort to see how badly effected Bashir's mind was already. Both he and Lonnie knew about his nightmares. The bad people in them would not have used his first name.

Bent over the patient, whispering quietly, he said, "Julian, will you talk to me." But there had been no response and he was about to give up. He decided to make one last attempt "Julian, please, this is very important. Try to hear me." His voice was soft and gently, but there was a lilt that hadn't been there before.

Bashir, very slowly, started to respond, perhaps relating to a childhood memory, or some cherished moment. Eventually, he opened his eyes, lost in confusion. Looking at Willman in bewilderment, he said in a whisper, "I don't know you."

"That's fine. I'm a friend. Julian do you remember when you got sick again?" Lonnie marveled at how gently Willman sounded. Bashir looked bewildered. "Do you remember Lonnie coming to see you last night?"

Bashir mumbled something unintelligible, but whispered "Want to sleep," afterwards.

Willman took a small cup and held it up before him. "This will help you sleep. Now, drink it down." Bashir looked worried, but drank the medicine. He made a face. But the powerful narcotic, designed to counter the hallucinations from the toxin, rapidly sent him into oblivion.

Willman moved rapidly, moving the pillows from his head first, placing them into a bin. Everything on the bed would have to be decontaminated. Laying the now unconscious doctor flat, he removed the covers from his inflamed leg. Carefully lifting his leg by the heal, the pillows were removed and added to the bin. Lonnie laid the long cushioned support under his leg and spread out the thick, jell covered wrap on top of it. His leg was lowered carefully into the support and the wrap closed over it.

The bin was moved out of the way, and the stretcher brought in. He was lifted across with extreme care given to any jarring of his leg. Pillows were packed around it, and he was strapped in place.

A few minutes later he arrived at the newly created wing where the others like him were housed. As sick as they were, they were still lucky. Most of them would recover without any lasting signs of illness. The other effects of the virus were not so considerate.

o0o

He didn't know which nightmare he was in, but someone had tied him down. Maybe there were monsters waiting by the bed. He pulled gently against the strap that held his wrist, but couldn't loosen it. Then there was an unknown sound and he panicked.

Flailing about, he tried to get away but was too weak. What had they done to him? He called out for his mummy, but she didn't come. Everything was a blur. He screamed for her again, and even Kukalaka, but he could hear the monsters just a little far away. Were they laughing? When they came again, would they hurt him? Would they smile when he screamed? But then she was there. She gently pressed her hands over his and shushed him. "I'm here. Don't be scared."

It didn't sound like Mummy, but she was nice. He relaxed a little. "The monsters . . . . " he mumbled.

"They're gone. I chased them away."

He looked and didn't see them. She was holding his hand. She still wasn't mummy but he didn't care. She put something soft and squishy next to him under the cover. "Here's Kukalaka. He'll keep you safe."

He wanted his arm loose, but was too wary to ask. Maybe they'd finished hurting him and she was there to make him feel better.

"I have to go for a while, but I'll be back. Remember, Kukalaka is here."

He saw the bear sitting next to him and went back to sleep safe in his shadow.

o0o

Megan was lying on a stretcher, quiet, covered now in a blanket. Voices were near. Don't move. Show nobody your awake. Listen.

Darla was there, but her voice dulled and hollow, dragging out the words. "Any word on the kids?"

Him, the one she was going to marry, had been going to marry, his voice too quiet, too stunned. "Nothing. We had breakfast and they sealed off the room, then took them out. Rumor was they put them on the ship that left."

His hand grabbing them, pulling them away from her, pushing her to the street. But the way they came to him, the smile on his face. Gone again. Lost. Sadness so deep she could not cope welled up and disappeared.

"I treated her the best I could," said Darla, her voice shaky. "Got the bleeding stopped," she finished, her voice trailing, numb. "She needs a doctor."

Darla standing, watching her as she stood with the dress. How long ago? The way she laughed, then smiled, but with too much tension. Then work. Sir not there. Then the Jem'Hadar. Her heart was pounding again. The roar in her head obscured all the other sounds. Then walking towards the door, reaching it, taking that step.

And then nothing. Not an image or a sound or a word. A large blank space where something terrible had been. But they were talking again, softly and in tones of horror.

"Could you?" he asked.

"I did," said Darla, her voice with a small feeling of victory. "When I was injecting the anti-biotic. She won't remember now."

Remember what? What was in the blank space, what made their voices so quiet and numb?

"She's lucky, not remembering," he muttered. His voice became indistinct, soft and haunted. "The ones running it, they had them waiting when we were brought out this morning. If you weren't here or unconscious they dragged everyone out. Pulled them up to show them off, shot them then put them in the trench. Supply and Records went on the bottom, Face up. The rest, the ones working with them, got stacked over them on a wooden shelf. Face down so they'd bleed that way. They covered it when they were done and made the work crew dig out dirt to seal it. They'll have a couple days air maybe. They'll live long enough to suffocate." He must have sat in one of the chairs. "I wish I could get that out of my head."

She saw the street, the town leaders as they fell and were tossed in. They had died quicker. She would remember it forever. The children had seen, would see it in their dreams too. Did they go quietly when they took them or screaming? Would he ever see them again? She collapsed against the cot, but neither noticed.

"What's next?" Darla sounded numb.

"They are picking carefully," he said softly. "And we used to think the Jem'Hadar and the Founders were the monsters. Maybe we forgot our own history." Megan's eyes were still covered but she could see the look in his eyes, the fear and the worry, and then nothing. He would win or lose but show them only what they should see.

Who had done these things, she wondered. What sort of creatures would do that to living beings? But then she'd read history. The Domonion weren't the only ones who'd could commit atrocities. Were they standing back watching or confident they would be obeyed?

A vague almost ghostly memory surfaced, hands on her, touching and hurting, wet blood as someone bit through her skin. The smell of sweat, and excitement, and frenzy as he took in her terror. But no pictures, no details, as if it was just an outline of a scene. Those words he'd told Darla. What wouldn't she remember now?

Then she could hear as he walked closer. "I owe her," he said. "They didn't do this because of the warehouse. They already had them."

"I hear we'll be deported," said Darla softly.

"Maybe even all of us," he said.

But there were gruff voices and heavy boots and she let herself slip into her dark place again, hoping when she woke the nightmare might be over.

o0o

Bashir was still in restraints when he woke again. He wasn't sure where he was, but he wasn't five anymore. His vision was still blurry and he was exhausted by the brief struggle to move. A nurse came immediately. He vaguely recognized her voice. "How do you feel?" she ask.

"Tired," he mumbled. He should know where he was.

"You've been very sick, but you're getting better now. Just rest."

She was moving away and he had to know. "Where am I?" he asked.

She listened intently, then finally answered. "Your voice is very slurred from the medicine. But I think I understand. Just relax. You're in the hospital. You're doing fine, but we can't let you move around. That is why you are restrained." She paused a moment, giving it time to sink in. "Now, I'm going to let go of your hands gradually. You have to stay still. If you're not, we'll have to sedate you again. Is this understood?" She sounded tired and harassed and busy. He nodded. "Okay, do you promise you'll stay still. I can't take off the restraints yet. You'll have to behave with them in place. Do you?" He nodded again, yielding to her authority and not wanting any more drugs clouding his mind.

She let go, slowly, prepared to take hold again if he didn't cooperate.

But he offered her no resistance, and after the initial panic did not have the energy to fight anyway. He laid back in the bed, allowing himself to drift off into the fog that surrounded him. Within minutes he was asleep.

o0o

The next time he woke his head was a lot clearer. He still felt weak and the restraints were still firmly in place, but he remembered where he was and didn't react to them. His leg still hurt, but in a different way now. It throbbed as if it had been burned. The damaged nerves spread the pain unevenly. He didn't think it was possible for it to hurt more than it normally did, but he was very cooperative about keeping it perfectly still. He dreamed about his device, still hidden in his quarters. Willman was treating the infection with a topical goo, apparently made from the casaba leaves he had seen near the cave. It appeared to be working. He was recovering quickly. He didn't think he could stand to spend any more time locked inside this building than he had already been.

A few hours later, Willman came to examine his leg. Bashir was familiar with his way with patients, but there was something different about the man. The desperation that had driven him was gone, replaced by resignation and bitterness. He looked around the room, still crowded with victims of Their handiwork, including himself. Willman was removing the bandages from his leg, very gently and carefully. He had always been through about his technique, but this was done with the same extra care he had used with all the patients Bashir had watched him tend to before his turn had come. He finished unwrapping the leg, and looked at Bashir.

"The infection's almost gone. If it's better tomorrow I'm sending you home. I would guess you'd rather be in your own place than here, and I'm sure there is someone waiting to replace you." Willman looked at the room, sadly, and Bashir felt a numbness growing inside him. He would have to deal with this too. "I'm sorry about the restraints. I thought I'd ordered them removed this morning. We had a whole new group of patients come in so I may have not gotten to it." Willman removed them himself.

Bashir, carefully feeling out the stranger sitting besides him, was grateful for the relief. "Thank you, Sir. I didn't want to bother the nurses. They were too busy, and I knew they had to ask you anyway." He noticed Willman was watching a child a few beds away who was still asleep, looking worried. Bashir didn't want him to leave yet, concerned about a torment he remembered from before. "Ugh, Sir, can you do something about the itching? It's already bothering me."

Willman gave him his full attention again. "Next time the bandages are changed I'll fix that. Look, I know we need you, but I need you well. You're staying in bed until I say so this time. The viral epidemic is over, but there is still an awful lot left to do. No arguments."

Since he didn't have the strength to sit up in bed, Willman received none. But Bashir watched him the rest of the afternoon, as he checked one patient after another, giving each his full if brief attention, and acting unlike Bashir had ever seen him behave before. Later, after the doctor had left, it occurred to him that the reality of their lives had become a little more grim, if someone like Willman had given up.

o0o

Julian was aware they had changed the mattress. The old one had been lumpy, but this one had different ones. In a way it was disappointing, even if neither was all that comfortable. He was used to the other one. And until Willman allowed him to get out of bed, he would be getting used to this one.

No one had said it in so many words, but he'd figured out that Lonnie was feeling guilty. She had checked him before bed, but to avoid waking him had not checked everything and had missed the beginnings of the infection. No one was blaming her, except herself, but at least for the first few days, she was giving him every spare minute she could. She brought every meal, and shared her own meals with him. He appreciated the attention, though at times he fell asleep before he could finish. The day after he'd come home, the morning crew had found her sleeping on his couch as he was having a particularly bad night. The next day she had been busy most of the day, but still managed to bring his food. He didn't have much appetite, but he ate much more when he had someone to eat with.

It was the next day that changed things forever.

She had missed breakfast, having been too busy, and had hurried through lunch. He didn't ask, but gathered that things were not going well. He had decided he didn't want to know, quite yet.

She had arrived with dinner, late, after she was off work. He called her into the room when she arrived. "Could you help me?" he asked. "I think I'd like to sit up but I can't pull myself up."

"It should make it easier to eat, too," she said as she helped him up and against a pile of pillows. "How do you feel?" she asked, concerned.

"Much better. At least I'm not dizzy. I have been looking forward to dinner." She brought in their food, able to eat without helping him for once. It was a strange feeling, he thought, sharing a meal with a friend when the world was falling to pieces around them, but these few moments of privacy made it easier to take. They ate in silence, as had become their custom, and she cleared the dishes away. She was still there, just keeping him company, when the regular nurse came to check his leg. Lonnie had, oddly enough, left the room.

The nurse had slid him down in his bed so she could do a better job, and was examining an area that was not healing well when Lonnie wandered back in. She began to take a sample of the tissue before continuing with the bandaging. Lonnie stood by the door, just watching, looking as if she was ready to run. The re-bandaging took a long time, and she drifted away. He was helped back up, and the nurse left.

When Lonnie returned she was upset. She stood by the door, staring at his bandaged leg. "I'm so sorry. It's my fault that you had to go through this." She didn't move from where she stood.

He looked at her, letting the worry he felt show. "No," he said, "It's not. It happened. You didn't have any reason to suspect anything was wrong."

She refused to look at him. "But I should have checked anyway. It's procedure."

"Yes," he said insistently, "It's procedure. But you used your judgement. It was a mistake. It's going to be fine."

Lonnie hadn't moved from where she stood. "But it should not have happened."

"All right, it shouldn't have happened. But it did. You won't always make the most perfect decisions, especially not now." He looked at her, slightly annoyed. "Would you come here and sit down?" Slowly, reluctantly, she made her way to his side. He took her hand. "Look, you made a mistake. But I forgive you. Isn't that enough?"

"I suppose it will have to be," she said. She leaned forward, careful of his leg. He sat forward so she might put her arms around him, then leaned back, pulling her closer. There had always been a little distance left between them before, but this time she pushed against him. She laid her head on his shoulder. "I just can't stand the thought of losing you."

"I'm still here," he whispered, and before either of them knew what had happened she was looking at him. She was sitting on the side of the bed, leaning closer. He drew her towards him, and her eyes were excited and scared and very alive. "But you, don't ever go away." He pulled her to him.

It was a hungry kiss, one drawn from the need not to be alone, as well as the need for each other. It was desperate, unanticipated, and intense, neither prepared for the emotions it would bring. But it was real, and for just a moment they could forget all the misery and took a little piece of joy.

When it ended, they were reluctant to let go of each other. She closed her eyes and lay her head against his shoulder. He stroked her hair absently with his free hand. They sat together, just holding each other, for a long time.

But eventually she moved her head and he his hand, and leaned forward to release her arms. She retreated to the chair. He laid back on the pillows, holding onto the moment as hard as he could. She reached out a hand, and he took it, holding her tight.

But then, he remembered what was hidden in the small broken corner in the cabinet behind her. He wanted her desperately, but not now, not when he could destroy her as easily as himself. He knew he was too dependent on the device, and could not bring himself to smash it. But if he could go back and do anything in his life over he would have thrown it in the box that first night. What was his salvation had just become another trap.

Lonnie looked at him, her face a jumble of sadness and joy. "I love you. I need you. But I can't take . . . this. Not now. Not when . . . . "

"I know," he said sadly. "What happened?"

"We lost a couple of people today. Respiratory cases. One, his wife was pregnant and lost the baby a few days ago. They just couldn't fight off the infections anymore."

He held out his arms and she came to him, holding him just as closely as before, but it was a different touch. It spoke of friends who needed each other much too desperately to risk the uncertainty of change, and yet knew that within them, the difference was already there.

o0o

Lonnie continued to share dinner, and whenever she could manage to bring lunch. His leg was healing well, but Willman kept him in bed for more than a week and away from work for two. He was impatient, and Lonnie told him everything that had happened during the day. They had lost four more people of secondary causes, or pre-existing problems. Three of them were children. He had asked Willman how bad it might get, but Willman simply said "worse".

But when he did return to work, for as long as he could manage without becoming exhausted, he had one patient he wanted to see first. Lonnie had told him she was admitted three days before, with a sudden severe flare up of her chronic condition. He had asked Willman to at least visit the child, but Willman had refused. By the time he came back to work, she was in the children's critical ward, a small, hot, incoherent bundle. The drugs they had used before helped, but were not likely to save the child's life.

He came in the ward, spotting her bed by the presence of both parents sitting next to her. She lay, unmoving, in the bed, growing weaker every hour. Lonnie had told him she was not expected to last the night.

The parents were in shock, watching their dying child's life fade almost visibly as they waited. The mother looked up at him, tears not yet shed, and offered her chair. He refused and found an empty one nearby. "Thank you for coming, Healer. Katre asked about you but she knew you were ill."

Very subdued, the cost of the epidemic real for the first time, he said, "I'd have come before but Dr. Willman wouldn't let me out of bed." He looked down at the child, so still and flushed with fever. "I almost came anyway."

"No," said the father, staring at the wall. "You have to recover so you can help these other children. Nothing can be done for her anymore. She had been sick so much in the last few years. It was only getting worse."

Bashir knew what he meant. Even with all the resources of Starfleet and Bajor available, he had barely saved her the first time. But it still made him angry. She was doing better with the new medications they had started using on the station. She had a chance to grow up there. But here the chronically ill didn't stand much of a chance, with the limited medicines they had. "She would have been fine without the virus," he said.

The father said bitterly, "My daughter would have been fine without the Cardassians and their disease."

Bashir looked at him, wishing Willman and Sisko had allowed the full origin and nature of the virus to leak out. There had been some suspicion, but only because the origin was officially unknown. The Cardassians had left behind little pieces of destruction to harm children such as Katre, but They were killing her. He wanted to tell the parents, to tell all the parents of these critically ill children who had made them sick. He wondered, once it did come out, if they would do it again, or if this one demonstration had been enough.

The child's breathing was becoming irregular, and he checked her pulse. It had become erratic as well. "It won't be long," he told the parents, preparing to go.

"No, stay if you can," said the mother. "She would like that."

He sat with them while little Katre's breathing grew fainter and her pulse more erratic. In a short while, undramatically, she simply stopped breathing and died. He took care of the details, getting the child's body moved to a private room so the parents could stay a while to say good bye. The priest was called for some ceremony. He led them to the room, and quietly closed the door.

Someday he'd pay Them back for this and all the others.

o0o

Megan had her own cage now. There was no cot, just a thin mat to sleep on and thin work clothes to cover the damage that would forever remind her. They had replaced the bracelet, almost covering the scar on her wrist where the strap they'd used to tie her hands had torn the skin. The bracelet would, no doubt go, someday, but the scar would forever remind her of it.

There were others tortured and hurt they'd allowed to live, no doubt to ship off to some life long punishment instead. She knew some of them, several blacksuits. How did it feel to fall so far, she wondered. She hadn't had that far to slip, even if she'd thought so for a short while. But none of them were him.

She had solved the problem of grief over the uncertain fate of the children and other losses by just not feeling anything at all. She didn't own her life anymore, or particularly care either. Maybe if she'd let them know the kids were sick in the dingy shelter she'd have made a better choice. He'd have never touched any of them that way. Wherever they sent her, it wouldn't be much different. Having nothing to cling to but home left, she didn't want to leave even if she was just an animal.

Her inner debate was interrupted by footsteps. They didn't sound like guards so she ignored them, but they stopped in front of her tomb.

It was him. "I got permission to pack your things. I have them and you can keep them with you."

She turned, having decided the dull looking wall was preferable to the glare of the barred window. He was using the speaker. She reluctantly sat up and moved to the door.

He was dressed as she was. So he'd lost too, or still might be. He had a full bag with him, so he must have taken everything.

She pressed the button. "Thank you. I don't know where I'm going or when."

"None of us go anywhere until they're done. They're still busy." He said it with somehow unexpected bitterness. "Your superior was executed a while ago. She was playing the black market. Other people you knew. I had to watch, right up close. Until they were done none of us knew if we were meant for the pit or not."

She vaguely remembered him telling Darla, but not exactly when. And the kids. How they'd . . . .

"How's the little ones?" she asked, watching carefully.

"Still here. Locked up in a different area. I don't think any of us get them back. They sell off kids for adoptions and . . . other things. But I got to see them. They're good and health. Someone will take care of them."

"I wish we hadn't waited," she said.

"You'd get sent where ever they do me, or we'd both be dead. I doubt they'll really be any survivors of this."

"They brought back the bracelet," she said.

"Just for ID. They do something else but we don't have authorization. I only got an hour of free time so I don't have much. Doubt I can come again. But I wish," he said, his eyes sadly looking into the cage.

"Your locked up?" she asked.

"And worked. I got this for an extra shift. Had to see you one last time."

He owed her. She didn't know how or why but knew he did. She wasn't sure why he had come, but that wasn't all.

"Do you know where we're going?" she asked.

"Rumor is whole unit, however well we passed or not, that is alive is being sent to Bajor. I don't know if its true. Worse pit they could find."

She wouldn't ask but she guessed for the winners too.

"I'll try to make it," he said. "I have to." He looked away. "Look, I tried. We're lucky they didn't just deport everyone associated with CA. The Vorta made all the decisions. Well, at least after. They let some of our own, at first," he said hesitantly. She remembered his voice, faint and broken, and the bitter thing he'd said. She moved closer, watching his eyes. "But they'll have to let up eventually. We have to play the game. When it ends someone with rules needs to be there. Anything is better than them making them up as they go."

He backed away, and she watched as he never took his eyes off the pointed rifle. The guard unlocked the door and pushed in the bag, slamming it. He hurried along as if at least once he hadn't.

She slumped back down, wanting to look, but afraid. But she felt books and wondered if she'd be punished for trying to read. Of if she cared anymore.

She pulled out a book, one of his. It was poems and she read it often. But there was something inside.

She pulled out the papers and could almost feel. The children had drawn pictures. She got the idea they knew it was goodbye already. Chele had drawn Mommy with a big smile. Even when she was terrified of the next day she had always smiled for them. Her brother had made a colorful blob and big squiggle in his favorite colors. She just held them for a few minutes, closing her eyes. Then she pulled out other books of his putting the pictures in one large enough to hide them. Then she repacked the bag, folding the clothes and things and keeping the books where they would not be damaged.

She wished that somehow they had managed not to lose each other.

But he was not going to give up. He was going to 'win'. He did not want more of the rule of fluted eared monsters. Maybe he was right, a little, that blacksuited humans were better. Or some of them. At least they were known.

He might even have a point about rules. And he did want to survive. But the result might not be something he'd like much better. She already knew how that happened. But a little spark of humanity still existed and had come to her so she'd know. If they were lucky, it wouldn't be the seed that squashed him into something he'd even hate himself.

o0o

He ate his lunch silently, Lonnie watching him without comment. When he was done, he stared at the wall of his room, not touching the bowl. "I heard she died," said Lonnie softly.

"I was holding her hand," he said. "We are going to save as many of these people as we can, and not let Them murder any more than they must." Lonnie felt the growing anger in him, and it scared her. She was afraid he would ultimately sacrifice himself if that was what it took, and she needed him too much-everyone needed his skills too much. She squeezed his hand. He looked at her, speaking very slowly, "and someday, they'll pay for this."

Lonnie understood his anger and pain, hoping it wouldn't destroy him. He couldn't save them all, but she knew each patient that lived would be a victory. That was the only kind he, or any of them, could have now.

o0o

Julian tried to sleep, exhausted by the child's death and his own still weak condition. But it was to no avail. When he first learned about the virus, there was bitterness. It fit in the expected pattern too well. There was anger, but tempered by it being no surprise. It did not sink in, not yet that a different version of the quickening had come, and this time he was likely a victum. It was not yet real. Even with the extended illness he'd been through, it hadn't quite defined the cost.

But Willman knew. He had seen its effects in Willman and the sudden change to a very different man. At first the new man was only in private, but since the epidemic had come he had dropped all the masks. He was just resigned, and saddened, and broken. Julian hadn't liked the man who had written the overbearing rules, but would still prefer him over this defeated man who had replaced him.

Was that how it had been generations before when the Quickening had come? Had they given up, then broken or had they tried until there was nothing left to try? When had they become a people who lived in defeat and embraced death as a blessing? If Willman had been there when the child was born, would he look so worn and broken now?

Julian vowed he would not be that way. Katre's death had marked a change in him. Bitterness had become outrage. He knew he could not stop their plague. But he would fight them, as a doctor, one patient at a time. He would not accept the inevitable; he would fight to preserve each life. Each patient saved counted as a victory.

He wanted to tell Willman, to make him not willing to give up again. But if he allowed him to become close, Willman might notice the effects of the device. As things were, with all the work ahead of him, he couldn't stand to lose it. He sensed that Willman would probably protect him, but would take it. Maybe he could use the instrument in the cave, and if they went on another walk he'd bring his little salvation in hopes of that. But there wasn't time, now, to go to the cave.

He knew he was taking a chance, but it was his to take. Lonnie or Willman, or anyone else, would be unknowingly sharing the danger. He would not ask that of friends.

Some day he could let Lonnie in, but not yet.

o0o

It was the middle of a particularly cold night. Even snuggled, he felt freezing as he lay with his arms wrapped around his wife, his two young children cuddled near in the smallest bedroom. They shared the small room at night, using their little heater to help warm the room. It was the only way they could fight the cold. The little heater had little effect in a larger room. So Carl Jackson and his family had resorted to the oldest means of warmth, sharing their own.

But it was not a very big room, and with the two children curled so close he couldn't move, making it difficult to sleep. Cheryl had been too tired to care, and pressed near him, sound asleep. He listened to the rough breathing of his daughter, and the wheezing of his son. They were still sick, but he was assured they would recover. Both had survived the virus only to come down with severe colds soon after. He could hear the icy wind that had been blowing the last few days moving things around. At least the house kept it outside, but that was small comfort when it was so cold. He had been told that it wasn't as bad when the heavy snow came, but he didn't know if he was prepared for that.

He could not remember being warm. Only when he was sick had the bitter cold outside not been noticeable. It was not so hard on the children, naturally warmer and not yet used to the controlled interior temperatures he and Cheryl had lived in all their lives, but for the adults it was miserable. She seldom complained, and he felt guilty when he went to work, for the older buildings were usually warmer. He looked forward to the nights, when they huddled together in the small room and he felt close to his family.

But there had been more rumors, and he knew them to be more reliable than most. The details of the Federation colony that had defied Them and fought back were being leaked now. Families had been ripped apart, and the surviving adults had been deported to numerous places as a warning. The children had been taken away. Every rumor of "activities" that came down the grapevine made him hold his wife and children closer, and it was harder to sleep. He wondered how many more nights he would have them to hold.

If he lost them, nothing would matter at all.

end, Legacy, Year 1, part 1-4, Chapter 20


	22. Part 4Interesting Times Chapter 21

LEGACY

An Alternate History of the Dominion War

Year 1 - Innocence

Part 4- Interesting Times

Chapter 21

.

Julian Bashir wondered if anyone would notice the odd shaped lump in his inner coat pocket the first time he'd brought it to work, but no one had. He was working many hours now. Since Lonnie had taken ill a few days after he'd come back to work, he had been supervising her home visit teams as well. She had organized them well, and they mostly ran themselves, but it added more hours to his already long day. He still worked with the critical cases, both adult and children, and had spend more than a few nights in a last ditch effort to save someone. A few patients were alive due to his single-minded dedication. Each was a life snatched away from Them.

But the cost was measured in pain. His leg was in constant agony-or it should have been. The odd shaped lump made short work of that. He didn't limp when he had numbed the leg, but had discovered a way to adjust the brace where it forced one, and seldom allowed the pain to become real anymore. He knew he was risking discovery, but if it enabled him to save a few more people, if his mind was clear because there was no pain, it was worth taking the chance.

One of the smaller rooms at the hospital dispensed meals now. His were always rushed and irregular. Lonnie was too sick to eat. She was not considered critical, but needed far more care than he had. She was still in her quarters, but was not left alone.

He stayed with her when he could, but he didn't have much time to spare.

Most people had already had the virus. A few had escaped it, but came down with it much later. All of those were much more serious, as was hers. She'd been left in her quarters to isolate her from the new wave of patients with various kinds of infections. When he visited, he just held her hand. Sometimes when she was awake, she would weakly squeeze his thumb. A breathing tube had been inserted into her throat before the swelling became too great to place it. She often didn't respond at all when he came, but she must have known he was there because she relaxed a little when he talked to her.

He knew the danger she was in. No one knew if she would improve after a few days, or get much worse. She was stable, no worse or no better.

When Willman asked him into the office it was a surprise. He'd behaved and was working hard. There were no cases so critical that scarce resources policies might be applied. But there was the lump in his pocket.

He knew it was keeping him going, but wished, again, that he'd left it in the cave.

But all Willman did was ask him to sit. The papers on his desk were piled in sloppy stacks. Lonnie usually did most of the prep on it, and in her absence Willman was having to do it himself. Bashir remembered her complaint that he hadn't even been looking at the forms before he signed them. Perhaps the cloud of gloom in the room came from having to think about it.

"How are you doing?" ask Willman.

"I'm very tired," he said, avoiding mentioning his leg.

"How's the leg?" Willman had to ask, he thought.

He shifted it to the side. He winced a little when his foot hit the floor. He'd used the device in the morning, and most of the effect had worn off. "I'm managing. I've got plenty to do that keeps it off my mind."

Willman didn't look convinced. "Are you using anything to help it?"

Bashir didn't show the sudden fear that invaded his mind. After the dead lookout, he knew that Willman would have to act if he was caught. "Sometimes a little of the casaba salve," he replied.

If they wanted to look, it was true. The brace rubbed a little too hard the way it was adjusted, and the skin got sore.

"That wouldn't do much. I'll authorize something more useful. And I want you to use it."

"If you insist, Sir," he said.

It was reasonable, he thought. Willman wouldn't wonder why if he started to walk more freely that way.

"I do. And I'm altering the duty schedule. We're busy, but I can't afford to have you get too run down and relapse. I want you to take the evenings off for the next week. I'll be on call, and if they need you you'll be near by."

Willman was right. The recurring infections were a greater danger to him, with his mangled leg, than others. And he was exhausted.

"Thank you, Sir," he said. In the lab he would have been much more informal, but the room was too official a place.

"There's more. You have an assignment." Willman looked and sounded tired, but relieved as well. "Lonnie's doing a lot better, but I want someone staying with her evenings. The morning staff can check during the day, but I'd like her to get a more uninterrupted rest at night. I thought you'd like to keep her company."

"I owe her," he said.

"And if there is a problem, you can handle it better than an attendant."

"Should I start tonight?" he asked.

"Yes. I'll have the authorization for the meds by the time your off shift."

o0o

She still couldn't swallow very well, and her meal was a slow process. She fell asleep after a few sips sometimes. But he patiently waited for her to wake, and fed her a few more spoonfuls. She still couldn't talk, but it was enough to just be with her.

He'd taken Willman's meds, and as long as he was resting it helped a little. It wouldn't have done much during the busy days. But he left his devise in his own quarters, not wanting to put her in danger as well. During the day he had started hiding it, in case anyone got curious. She needed him now, and he was unwilling to risk being caught with it in his pocket.

Each day she was a little stronger. The swelling in her throat was gone in a few days, and she could manage short conversations, if they were in the mood. It was his turn to tell her about the daily events, and keep her up on the latest rumors. Despite the remaining weakness, she was already bored. Willman had promised her when she was strong enough she could work on some of the long unfinished paperwork, and she was even willing to do that to have something to do.

He ate dinner with her, but brought his other meals as well. It was so much better than hurrying them in the little commissary. She was improving, but slowly. He didn't let on how sick she still was, or how near critical she'd come. She could find out about that later. But every shared meal was special now.

Sometimes he thought of his lunches with Garak, and how much he wished the Cardassian had survived to still share them. He didn't want to lose another lunch companion.

The device could take all of that away. He would let Willman's medication dim the pain enough that he could manage. The evenings were restful enough, and the hospital a little less busy.

But he wanted to rid himself of the temptation entirely. Even if Willman got word the device was in the box, there would be no chance of it being used again. That afternoon, rather dark and gloomy, he'd been evaluating a home care patient and Willman had asked him to deliver some documents to Sisko's office as well.

He could walk near the box. It was cold, and the lump in his jacket would be indistinguishable from layers of warm clothes.

It was a relief that Sisko wasn't there when he took the documents in. He didn't think he could face his old commander.

He took a leisurely route back towards the patient, nearing the box.

It had snowed the night before, just a little, but footprints would be quite visible leading directly from Sisko's office. He hesitated, worried that the box might be watched. He looped around, making the direction of the visitor uncertain. Reaching into his pocket, he almost went to the box.

If it was gone, he couldn't hurt anyone else by having it. He could be more honest with Lonnie and let Willman's attempts at friendship perhaps come to something.

But Willman's potions did little more than let him sleep. He hadn't used it for most of the week, and after this long, cold walk, how would he handle the throbbing pain?

He looked at the virgin snow. His limp left a distinctive print in the white fluff. Would it be obvious who had gone to the box?

Once, he would have felt secure taking the chance, but the dead lookout had changed that. Nobody knew what the rules were anymore. He couldn't take the chance of being identified.

Walking past, he shoved it as far down into his pocket as he could. He would have to find some other way to rid himself of it.

o0o

For Keiko and her children, the fear was also very real. Each time the alarm was given, they would retreat to their hiding place and wait, never knowing if this was the time it would end.

The Jem'Hadar had been seen just down the mountain, and the secret warning given. Molly knew it well, and had already taken her brother to the hiding place and sat clutching him when Keiko arrived. It was a hidden storage room with only one way in, and with that blocked they sat in the dark, waiting.

This time, it seemed like an eternity. They had come here other days, and yet it never got easier to wait. The thick walls muffled most sounds. Until the door opened, they had no way of knowing with any certainty what was making the noise–or who.

But huddled together they knew something unusual was happening. The muffled thumps were not normal. Keiko held her breath and put her arms around her children, afraid of discovering who would open the door when they were next.

The sounds became louder as the thumps move closer, edging slowly but progressively down from the living area, as if someone was searching. As time passed, and things grew more quiet, she began to wonder what would happen to them if the Jem'Hadar took the village and missed them. Would the entrance be blocked? Would their hiding place become a tomb?

Several hours, at the least, had passed, and the children fell asleep despite their terror. Eventually Keiko began drifting towards sleep as well. It had become quiet. They would wait to make sure nobody was watching before letting them out. She clung to that hope as she held the children closer.

Then, with a loud sound near the door, an abrupt one unlike their hosts normal habits, they woke instantly. She watched, staring through the dark in a surreal moment of fear as it creaked open and suddenly was filled with bright light.

Arms locked around the children, as their eyes widened in terror, they were all blinded by the bright light. She could only make out shapes, but they were large and heavily built–and were carrying rifles.

"Please," she said, her voice begging them, "don't hurt my children."

The brightness of the light dimmed and she could see details. The Jem'Hadar was motioning them to move. She nudged the children, still with a firm hold on both of them, and stood. Holding Yoshi, they walked out of the room.

Outside, the reason for the noise was obvious. The caverns had been torn apart, with stacks of stolen merchandise piled high. Numbly, she and the children walked between the two armed guards. As they proceeded through the caverns, there was nothing but destruction and Jem'Hadar to be seen.

She continued a silent plea, to keep her children safe, to not hurt them or take them away, to whatever deity might be listening. Pushed forward by more guards behind them, they reached the outside and the snow.

They were stopped in the village square, and Keiko tried to cover her children's eyes. But Molly had already seen and pushed her mother's hand away. A pile of bodies, tossed haphazardly in a pile filled the center. Blood was everywhere. She couldn't stop staring, holding Yoshi to her to shield him while Molly stood frozen with her eyes locked on the carnage. Most of the men were there, fallen together as if they'd been mowed down. But the women's bodies were thrown on top. Marlan Sira lay near the edge, her dress soaked in blood and her body limp. Keiko remembered the first day they'd been brought there and how she had made them feel welcome. They had not known what to expect that day and she had made them comfortable.

This night her still, dead body just spoke of nightmares to come.

The guard nudged her with the butt of his rifle to move. She pulled Molly closer, nearly dragging her away from carnage. On the edge of the square sat a small transport. Stunned, nothing quite real, she stumbled forward holding the children so tight she thought it might be hurting them, but afraid they might get away.

She was stopped at the door, wanting to be away from the bloody mess, but afraid of the destination. There had been so many rumors. Foreigners were being deported, one had said. But to where? What would be done to them? There were also rumors of massacres where all the children disappeared. She clutched her children and pulled them closer, afraid they would be taken and she would never know what became of them.

The door opened. The cabin was full of people, mostly women and children, a few from this village, but most not. But they all wore the local style of clothes, so they must have been taken earlier, down the hill..

Hesitating, the guard shoved them inside, and she almost fell. Someone near the door pulled Molly to the side, and stopped her fall. Then the door shut behind them and velvety darkness pressed against them again.

Before it had been safety. Now it was to be an unknown too ominous to contemplate.

o0o

Keiko sat on the floor of the transport clutching her children, too scared to move. The others around them were in shock, no one speaking. Despite the amount of children, there was no noise. The transport sat on the ground, the door shut, leaving them in darkness. She could not tell how much time passed before the pressure changed in the cabin and then the floor shook as it lifted off.

But not long after that, it landed again, and the door opened. Nobody moved, but everyone was holding their children. It was dark outside but there were lights which shone inside, showing vague shadows. Then a Bajoran dressed rather well appeared, holding a list. He didn't look inside, just read the names. All were Bajorans, and she moved back as they slowly dragged themselves to their feet and passed into the unknown. All she could see was the corner of a fence and bright light. Or perhaps she didn't want to see any of it. But she and the children moved toward the side a bit further, a small measure of resignation settling inside her, as it lifted off again.

There were three other stops. Each time a Bajoran stood by the door, one wearing something clearly a sort of uniform, and more names were called. She tried to look out, but all that she could see was piles of show.

In the end, only Keiko and young Bajoran woman remained, and the five children between them. But this time when the door opened a Jem'Hadar stood, motioning with his rifle for them to stand. As they hesitantly moved out, bunched in a nervous group, he encouraged them to move a little faster. Once they were away from the transport the door slid shut and it lifted off, leaving them behind.

It was dark. A Vorta and several Jem'Hadar stood waiting for them as they were herded towards them, the children between the women and both carrying their youngest.

The Vorta stepped back and the Jem'Hadar First spoke to the Bajoran woman.

"Full name of yourself and your children," he demanded.

She was frightened, but answered in an even voice.

"The names of the fathers of these children."

She answered the question with her late husbands name.

"And this one?" he said, pointing at her baby.

"My husband, Lt. Jackson Wright."

"Where and when was your last contact with him?"

"Deep Space 9, last spring," she answered calmly.

"Wait over there," he ordered, pointing to a nearby gate and several more armed Jem'Hadar.

He asked Keiko the same questions and she gave her answers. Taking the woman's lead, she tried to remain as steady and appear calm, though inside she was simply growing numb.

Then the two women and their children were ushered into the gate as the force field was turned off to allow them to enter. It reappeared with a whine after they were inside.

o0o

Inside the gate were several civilians, one human and the otherVulcan, who told them to follow. Feeling slightly more reassured, no Jem'Hadar in sight, she walked after the Bajoran woman, keeping in back of the three children between them.

The first stop was a small room with a table and chairs. Two women were motioned to sit. The children were told to sit on matts in the corner. There were toys but the toys were ignored as the three children stared at their mothers.

The Vulcan and human introduced themselves briefly as Sakek and Kester. The Vulcan had a paper he was reading from.

"Keiko O'Brien and Marka Wright?" asked the Vulcan.

"That will do" said the Bajoran woman.

"Has anyone told you where you are?"

"No," said Keiko, cautiously. "We were taken from the village we've been living in since spring and put on the transport. Nobody said anything."

"This is an official residential district for foreign nationals, the only one in this area. Now, don't be scared. It's really not that bad. We get treated a lot better than the Bajorans they took with you," Kester shrugged.

Keiko looked at the other woman but she didn't react to the remark.

"What about our husbands?" asked Marka. "We were told they would be evacuated off Deep Space 9. I've heard nothing."

There was silence. The Vulcan finally spoke, "Your husbands and the others on Deep Space 9 were indeed evacuated. However we believe they did not make it to Federation space. We have had no word about the families of other's brought here with relatives left on the station."

Kester spoke quietly. "Are you aware of the treaty?"

Keiko said no, feeling stunned and apprehensive.

The Vulcan continued. "An agreement settling the conflict was signed some months after the attack on the station. A large area of Federation territory was given over to the Dominion. We believe most of those who were evacuated from border areas were left in Dominion territory in the end."

Both women were shocked. "They're prisoners?" asked the Bajoran woman.

"Most of them were resettled to colonies within the territory. It's hard to tell where they ended up. We keep getting promised an accounting, but nothing so far. Don't give up." The human tried to look optimistic, but failed. "I guess we should get you settled."

o0o

Their second stop was supply, where they got large bags of bedding and extra clothes. Each child got a toy of their choice. They held them silently, still to much in shock to understand. The bundles were placed on a cart and they followed a young woman to a small building. One of the doors had a number on it. The woman opened the door, pushing the cart inside. They followed.

"These are your quarters." she said. They were set up for one family when there weren't a lot of foreigners on Bajor, so we got a relatively small area. But since they have been bringing others here from off Bajor itself, we're a bit crowded so we've had to double up."

There were three rooms, one the door opened into and two in the back. None of them were overly large. There were a few bits of furniture. In the bedrooms were a pile of heavy matts for sleeping. The young woman noticed they were staring at them.

"The matts are because of the space. They can be picked up during the day. They really aren't all that bad. We'll get you some furniture in the morning, but it's rather late right now."

Keiko did not want to think of the small hovel of a room, nor the matts. But she noted the phrase again. People used it to delude themselves.

She kept thinking of Miles, not sure if it was best to hope he made it home or had been caught behind the new border. If he was would she ever see him again? The depressing mood of the place was already getting to her. She supposed it could be worse, but she would have to see what it was like in the daylight to make a guess. And she thought of Miles. If he'd been sent to some colony, she hoped things were better for him. Or at least not any worse.

The guide had not left. "If you want to leave this here, I can get you some dinner." Molly clutched her hand, looking up at the word. It had been hours since she'd thought of food but now she was getting hungry. The two women and their children followed their guide to dinner. Keiko hoped it would be more promising than the dour faces and ugly rooms had so far suggested.

o0o

Miles absently nibbled on his dinner, long cold, having sat most of the evening. He hadn't had much of an appetite of late, and even less enthusiasm for the reports that had been demanded before any more shipments were sent. After the disease, after the rumor of its origin, he hated reports. Sometimes he had to make himself write them. But they needed the supplies. He just couldn't put the reason for all the details in the reports out of his mind anymore.

It was pitch dark outside, extremely cold, and well past curfew. But with all the departments so short handed, and the reports needed immediately, they were all working late into the night. Miles glanced at Larson, who was staring at the paper in front of him, "Look Cary, go home. You're not getting anything done anyway. Get some sleep."

Larson shook himself awake. "If you insist, Sir, but. . . I can finish this tonight. I just need some fresh air to wake me up."

Miles wanted to get some rest himself, but had too much to finish. If Larson wanted to stay he wasn't going to argue. He wondered if something personal was bothering the young man, though, since he'd been working late almost every night for the last week. "Sure, if you want. Look, Cary, is something wrong?"

"Well, Sir, it's just that my roommate has a girlfriend and, well, sometimes it's hard, especially since it's so cold and she stays all night. I just feel . . . . " Larson looked embarrassed, having gotten more personal than people normally did.

Miles forgot about Larson for a moment. He thought about the red dress, still carefully wrapped, but left in its case most of the time now. He hadn't taken it out since the epidemic had started. He just couldn't deal with the memories. "Stay as late as you want, then. It's fine."

Larson stood up, yawning. "Thank you, Sir. Would you like a warmer bowl? I was thinking of getting myself some."

Miles poked at the food. It didn't taste all that good cold. "Sure. Take this back. I wouldn't want it wasted. Maybe they can add some hot to it."

Larson waited by the door, finishing getting dressed for outside. "Sir, thank you."

Miles shrugged. "Don't worry, you'll have company."

He pulled the curtain aside and watched as Larson moved a little ways away. As soon as he was out of immediate view of the pathway, he dumped the cold soup. Cary was loyal, clinging to his job in the absence of family. Perhaps he felt more comfortable with The Chief because they had something to share. But it didn't surprise Miles at all that he would not have half-warmed soup that night.

o0o

Kira eyed Narven closely, daring him to make an accusation. Her voice was calm, but the anger was evident in her stance, straight and hard, engaged in a contest of wills. He did not know her well, but her reputation was significant. She had changed, but he was unaware of that, and she let it work to her advantage. He stared at her. "You win. I will give him another day."

Kira eyed him, nodding. She said with confidence, "He'll be back." She didn't let him see her own doubts. Odo had been gone for too long, and she was worried he might have been killed or captured. Narven, of course, had other ideas. He had never really trusted the changeling and was ready to assume betrayal. If there was anything Kira was certain about, it was that Odo would never have done that.

She wished they could have remained unknown. But Odo had confirmed her suspicions that there was no way across the abyss, and they had been forced to contact the local remnants of the resistance.

Narven didn't trust Odo. He'd made that quite plain from the start. Odo had agreed to supply them with his unique talents, and that had given them grudging acceptance. But Narven had also readied his people for an emergency retreat. He didn't go out of his way to share with Kira either, despite her reputation.

This assignment was a test. She was sure that little of it really mattered. If Odo came back, and nobody else followed, Narven might let them stay.

She didn't want to go back to the old life. She already believed that it would be a mistake to resist as they had under Cardassian rule. But Narven must never know she was no longer the Kira who had killed and hated and never considered the fate of those they effected. She glared at Narven. "And what reason do I have to trust *you*", she demanded, staring him down.

He bought it, retreating from her glare, but she mostly just felt relief. Inside, she was trapped in a costume, like one of those she and Dax had worn, except now she didn't dare take it off. Mostly she was afraid of turning back into her character if things went as bad as they would if Narven's vision of it came true.

He left her and she retreated to her bed, nibbling on a ration cube and wondering when she'd forget what freedom had felt like.

o0o

Odo had agreed to help the hapless little band of rebels, Kira's safety at risk should he refuse, but his help would be selective. He would do nothing to encourage active resistance. He hadn't told Narven in so many words, but he didn't wish to ruin Kira's ruse. But both of them knew what the Dominion did if you fought back. He would not bring that on anyone.

But he would help with food. Bajorans and residential foreign nationals did not share in the ration cakes grown and processed on Bajor unless they worked on the farms. Others were at the whim of the local harvests and occasional trading. But the cakes were a frequent target for thieves. The compact food source was one of the staples of the flourishing black market. The real irony was that those caught with them illegally were sent to the farms, where despite the harsh conditions and hard work demanded of them, they would be assured of enough to eat.

A special organization was being established to coordinate the farms and distribution of their cakes, made up of an amalgam of collaborators of a variety of species. Odo suspected it was to be much more important later, the core of a structure that would stabilize the often random ways Bajor was treated. But most importantly, rules were being established.

He didn't tell Kira, but was more confident about the future. She would look on the new ruling class as traitors, and the system that would grow out of the rules as another form of the enemy. In the black and white world of an occupation they were, but the alternative was far worse. Next to the Jem'Hadar, it would be infinitely preferable. Even if the rules were severe they were at least predictable.

And Narven, along with his supporters and their surviving compatriots elsewhere, was going to make that possible. Their grandiose plans for revenge, inspired by old memories of open resistance, would systematically eliminate those places not yet under direct Dominion control.

Area by area, the Dominion was replacing the installed Bajoran government as the resistance took its toll. Those who resisted were eliminated. Those who hadn't were classified and resettled in little enclaves, where the new hierarchy could make use of them. Tagged, they couldn't run.

It would not be a pleasant world, but the fledgling organization would at least give some stability to the planet. In time, it would replace the Dominion and Vorta and their excesses. Children might have the chance to grow up without risking starving to death. He knew the value of freedom, but what did it matter if you were dead?

o0o

Blanchard lay flat on his back, vaguely watching the ceiling, hardly noticing Willman or the nurse at all. The nurse checked the IV's, while Willman ran a quick scan of the man. He had a raging infection throughout the entire respiratory track, and the beginnings of pneumonia, all the signs of the most serious form of the viral infection. He still had a fever, although he no longer needed the breathing tube. Tarlan stood back, near the door, just watching.

Willman hadn't given the Bajoran a prognosis on his friend, but he didn't think he needed to. Jaro knew how small the chances were with this form of the disease. It hadn't effected many patients that way, but all had died. They had lost twelve people from the disease or its direct complications. There would be a few more. He was certain that Blanchard would be one of those.

What Willman knew, and had not shared with anyone, was the lung scarring. The disease could have caused it, but Willman knew better. If he had to, he would list that as a cause. No one could disagree.

But even if Blanchard was beyond his help, he was still being treated for the infections. There was a marginal chance he might improve. Willman was not inclined to let anyone go that he might help since They sent the virus.

Tarlan followed him out of the room. The Bajoran looked on the verge of tears. "He couldn't breath last night. I thought . . . . "

Willman put his hand, protectively, on the man's shoulder. "We've given him something to help that. It's the pneumonia." He fished into his pocket and handed Tarlan a pass. "Night pass. If there is an emergency, send somebody and I'll get some help. Ok?"

Tarlan looked exhausted. "Thank you. Doctor, how long?"

Willman looked into the other room. "I wish I could tell you. He's responded to the treatment somewhat. I can't tell you if it's enough." He looked closely at the Bajoran. "How are you doing? You need some rest yourself."

"I'm doing fine."

"You don't look it." Willman fished into the medkit and handed Tarlan a couple of pills. "Here. These will make you sleep. I want you to go to bed now. I'll have someone check on him. But I don't want you coming down with something and having to leave."

Tarlan reluctantly took the pills. When he was asleep, Willman ran a scan on the Bajoran. He hoped to find a way to counter the effects of the poison without Tarlan knowing what he was being treated for. It was too late for Blanchard, but Tarlan could be saved. Willman didn't care why he was sick. He would deny Them every single victim he could.

o0o

Lonnie hated paperwork. She especially hated knowing why they demanded such detail. But Willman had finally let her out of her quarters, and even if all she could do was sit at a desk and fill out forms, it was better than staring at the four dull walls of her bedroom.

Julian came to share meals, but couldn't stay long. He was too busy during the day. She'd read the book he'd loaned her from his friend three times. The portrait of the grim, divided world was compelling, and she could lose herself in the complicated ruse in which Lemas was the key.

The ultimate betrayal at the end didn't really surprise her. She understood that. Julian had told her, one night while he was keeping her company, about his spy holoprogram. She wondered if he saw himself as Lemas, used by everyone as a pawn.

Was she his Liz? Was she to be trapped in his own nightmare? Would she die as the woman Lemas sacrificed himself for had perished?

He cared about her. She knew he would never go any further than sharing a meal. He didn't dare let anyone inside. She'd had all the traces of innocence stripped away in the last year, and was content to keep it that way.

She couldn't let him in, either. Some were able to take support from the other victims of this life, but she could never risk letting the pain become too real. When she learned that They had sent death in their supplies, the reports had become the hardest part of the day. If she ever had to define the storm inside her, she couldn't stand to touch them.

And she couldn't take the quiet, boring days either. Even if all she could do was be Their pawn, it was better than that.

Julian had been by to drop off some paperwork. He'd been in a hurry, several more patients needing his time. He was annoyed at his routine being interrupted by the side trip. Perhaps he was just preoccupied, but something was different. She noticed the odd way he was walking. His limp was wrong. Sometimes he would put only very delicate pressure on the leg, and other times would not even notice his full weight. He'd never been able to do that. In between forms she wondered about that. But it wasn't the only difference. He still shared his meals, mostly now in the office, but he was wary.

Something was wrong. She remembered Jabara telling her that he'd always been hard on himself. He was finally letting Willman treat the pain, but it shouldn't have worked that well. There had been rumors about *things*. When he told her about the days, he'd left that out. But the word was that not everything had been taken when the Jem'Hadar had come.

He wouldn't do that. He was too terrified of being taken away. She told herself it must have been the medicine. He'd been busy and preoccupied; he wouldn't notice the pain so much.

If it was anything else, he'd learn just how scared Willman was, and how hard a man he could be.

o0o

Bashir had been working a long shift, and Willman had been watching the limp. When he first arrived at work it had been minimal, and as the day grew longer, it had gotten worse. An hour ago he had noticed Bashir resting, and had mentioned to one of the nurses that they needed some supplies. He noticed that Bashir hadn't offered to get them right away; he had waited until Willman was supposedly out of view. But soon enough he was on the way to the supply cabinet.

Willman waited until Bashir had entered the room. He tested the door and wasn't surprised to find it locked. He used his own key to open it, and entered the room, standing in front of the door.

Bashir had something in his hand which he slipped into his into his pocket. Willman watched as he slowly seemed to react and turned around. He didn't expect to be interrupted and didn't cover the surprise. "Sir, I was getting the supplies for Jabara. She had to help a patient."

Willman stared at him, annoyed, allowing himself to slip back into his hard nosed persona. "Your lying. She was taking a break. She said you had some other things to pick up. Of course, you weren't lying about that, at least."

Bashir stood his ground. "I thought she looked busy. I was trying to help." He sounded defensive. Willman watched his hands closely, and the way he was working his right hand under his coat.

"Doctor, get over by the wall." Bashir seemed wary but moved. Willman stepped forward and studied him, still staring. "Now I want your hands in front of you, palms up." Bashir complied, but was worried. There was a small spot of ink on his right hand, reddish blue in color. "How did you get the ink on your hand?" ask Willman. Bashir started to say something but saw he ink stain for the first time. He looked genuinely surprised.

"One of the pens must be leaking." His voice had lost the confidence it had before, however.

"Take off your coat." Willman spoke very quietly. The coat was removed. "Drop it." It landed on the floor with a thud. "Now, turn around and put your hands on the wall." Bashir hesitated, and Willman thought he might try to run. But there was nowhere to go. He again complied.

Willman searched him. It didn't take long to discover the heavy, rectangular device in his right pocket. Removing it, he took care not to smear the ink spot he had put there.

When he stepped back, Bashir did not move. "Sit down on the floor." Seating himself, he noticed that Bashir was throughly cowed, and although it was cold in the room, made no move for the coat. Willman kicked it away.

He pulled up a chair, and sat, staring at the young doctor. Deeply disappointed, he didn't hide his anger at the younger doctor for betraying a trust. For a time, he just sat and stared.

Bashir looked at his feet, moving his bad leg occasionally. In the cold room it must have hurt more. Finally, Bashir miserable, he said quietly, "You didn't get a chance to use it, I see." Bashir only shook his head, not looking up. "I've been suspicious for some time, but had to find your hiding place. I did earlier today, and waited. I guess you didn't notice the ink."

Bashir looked at the ink spot on his hand. "No," he said slowly, his voice dragging. "I was busy."

Willman shifted his chair where he was closer, and then stood directly above him. "I'm extremely disappointed. I thought you knew better. Why?" Bashir said nothing. "I want an answer," he demanded.

Bashir talked to his feet. Very hesitantly, he started, "I didn't intend to use it, only when the pain got too bad. But we were so busy, and I couldn't have managed without it a few weeks ago."

Willman's voice had softened a little. "I see. Go on."

"I tried to put it in the box that day I took the documents to Sisko. But it had snowed and I would have left a trail. And I wasn't sure I wouldn't be watched." Bashir sighed, adding softly, "I don't know what to trust anymore."

For a second, Willman was sympathetic. But they couldn't afford such risky behavior. He was going to have to scare Bashir. He looked at the young doctor, gazing at him sternly. "Fine, but that doesn't explain why you have it hiding in this storeroom now."

"I tried to ignore it. But as long as it's there it was . . . too tempting. I've only used it when I really needed it. I even tried to destroy it myself, but I couldn't. I was going to return it to the cave when we went back and make sure you destroyed it."

"How did you plan to do that?" ask Willman harshly.

"I'd have gotten the devices for you, or something. You wouldn't have missed it then."

"But you would," said Willman.

"I was hoping you could use the other one."

Willman studied his captive. He stared at the wall as if seeing nothing.

"I hoped to do just that." He looked the device over closely. "Was it ever used on a patient?"

Bashir shook his head. "No. I never let anyone see it." He sounded resigned as if it was all over. Good, thought Willman.

Sounding annoyed, Willman asked, "Now I know why you took so long to ask for help for the pain. I should have insisted. Actually, I should have had your quarters searched when I first suspected you'd taken something."

Bashir froze. Willman was aware of the implication of a search. Bashir must have believed he would have actually taken a chance on the device being publically known. Finally, he replied in nearly a whisper. "I was going to. But I was worried you'd find it odd that I needed it all of a sudden."

Willman was frustrated, especially that it had gone this far. He had no intention of turning in his young doctor. But he knew the punishment had to be very severe. And for a little while, Bashir had to wonder if he'd turn him over to Sisko and then Them.

"You're suppose to tell me about problems that keep you from working." His tone was ice cold. "It never had to get this far."

The silence was enormous. Bashir almost collapsed against the wall he was leaning on. He was staring at the opposite wall now, eyes fixed on the corner of a shelf. Willman could tell how scared he was. He mostly mumbled, "I didn't think you'd listen."

"Not to excuses. But if it's a real problem, then I'd do what I could to help. But you don't want that. You want the easy way. Do you know what you have done to me, to Lonnie, to the patients, and everyone in this hospital who didn't do this? Do you think you're the only one they are going to question when they come and search?" Bashir had turned pale. Willman continued to push. "You told Lonnie about the Cardassian, but not me. I want all the details, now."

Bashir closed his eyes and looked even more pale. "They killed him," he finally said after a long pause.

"How did they kill him?" asked Willman quietly.

"They beat him. They tortured him too." Bashir spoke softly, distantly.

"How did they decide who to beat to death?" asked Willman, sounding very somber.

"I don't know. Maybe they were in the mood for a Cardassian. Maybe since they'd just," he stopped and whispered the next word, "finished with me. I was sure I was next." He was on the verge of losing control.

Willman moved closer, sitting on the floor next to him. He didn't touch but made eye contact. "You don't think they can tell from the EM signatures that something illegal is being used?" He shook his head. "And according to Sisko you were such a smart doctor."

"I didn't think about that. And there is the tricorder. I just knew it hurt too much. I'll do whatever you and Sisko want." The resentment was gone. Willman was sure he'd gotten through. He was certain Bashir was thinking about the one caught with the machines.

For a second, there was a flash of anger in Willman's eyes. "We won't be bothering Captain Sisko with this. From now until I decide to end it, your are under lock restrictions. If your not working you're in your quarters. And you won't be doing double shifts, either. Get your coat, it's time to go home. By the way I'm your superior. Your suppose to call me Sir."

o0o

With all of her injuries healed, Megan and her heavy sack had been moved out of the cage to a larger one. She hadn't been there long, just one night, when she and the strangers locked in with her had been ordered out to the corridor, and lined up in groups of two. A number was written on her hand, and stuck with tape on her belongings after they were piled on a cart. As the cart disappeared down the way, she and the rest were ordered to go. As they passed other cells, all apparently full, she understood that CA on Devon had been purged. Wherever they were going, it was with those who'd escaped being buried alive, but had been reduced to the slave labor she'd once rushed past so she didn't have to see them.

That night had been miserable, knowing none of them but being forced in anyway, and sitting nearly against the door without room to even lie down. She'd ignored the muttered comments about her bag. Most had little at all, and she had stayed awake most of the night lest they steal half of it.

But the long walk was punishment enough, she'd decided, as being in front and most visible, she was poked frequently by the guard and his stinger. That was what the others called them. The guards were not Jem'Hadar, and she assumed the traitors enjoyed tormenting their failures.

Passing into a separate area, they had come to a large open room lined with larger cages. Ordered to halt, they were crowded together. Their possessions were piled in front of the cages, and her's sat alone. Called first, she showed her number and was shoved inside the cell, the large bag after her with a blanket tossed on top. She hadn't realized the first letters were different and that they were being grouped again. She took advantage of being first by taking the far corner. Settling into the blanket, leaning against her things, she noticed Darla and the others she'd stated her CA life with stored in the next cell.

Then, their numbers dwindling, a new group was pushed in, most in filthy work clothes, some still in equally soiled CA suits. Their numbers were already on their hands and they carried small bags. All the uniforms were grey. She pulled back as the door was opened and they dragged their small sacks inside, crowding the space. A stack of folded blankets was shoved in last, and slowly passed around as they gravited towards small huddles of those, she presumed, that they knew.

She guessed her relationship with him had made a difference. Was this was the top level of CA that had been allowed to survive?

Someone recognized her. "They have him in solitary since he won't cooperate. Maybe you'll get him back when we get to Bajor," she was informed before they ignored her. Shoeless, their feet were filthy, and the clothes smeared in dirt. She didn't want to know where it had come from. But they were hungry. Rations were sent in, rifles aimed through the open door insuring they were evenly distributed. Megan watched them with a curious detachment as they huddled in the blankets, each small grouping melting closer as the guards counted them. When they were gone, they stared at the rations for a moment before attacking, as if they hadn't eaten much for a time.

It had been near two weeks since then. The last had been added the day before, bare feet and uniform, but this one was a blacksuit. Her hair had been hacked short roughly with scissors. She'd slunk inside, holding her blanket and retreated, trying to look small. The rest eyed her, still keeping to their little packs.

She had been the odd man out before, now the blacksuit was. But Megan didn't want to be a part of them. And all the looks meant nothing outside the locked door. He'd understood. She had too. The rest of her new companions had made the mistake of believing it did.

For some that had proven fatal. These were the lucky ones. If they were marking blacksuits, then it might be a full load on the trip leaving.

But that morning just after breakfast, the guards arrived with rifles ready. They were new guards, aliens. Their new arrival had earned a little more floor space by her news. The Jem'Hadar had disappeared, replaced by this new, unknown species. Undoubtedly, thought Megan, they had no ties to planet or culture or trade like the former crews. If anything questionable happened with the work crews, she said, they'd execute the crew and its guard.

That they were to be the crews didn't have to be explained.

The doors unlocked, the order coming out of the speakers to be on their feet. Someone must have been watching since some still had themselves wrapped in blankets, and were told to leave them. Seeing Darla in the group, she held back, slipping near her. Medical had apparently lost its special status and been demoted to the same place as the rest.

Men and women were separated, herded into two large adjoining rooms. There were heaps of work uniforms on the floor, not new but at least clean. Those who had been here before dove in quickly, the rest with some hesitation, as they found suitable clothes and undressed, the alien guards watching, dumping the dirty clothes in a bin. Of course there were others watching too, she knew. She hurried to cover the marks they'd left so she didn't have to remember what they were capable of.

Told to assemble by number, she found her new companions. The ones in the suits looked more broken than the rest, except for the new addition. Without shoes, the cold room was worse with the chill of the hard floor. Each group was marched with guards to an elevator. It was early for storms, but it might have snowed in the early winter.

The elevator spilled them out into the first floor of the central warehouse. With all the forms she's handled, even before the war, she'd actually never seen it. But she understood. The totals for the special forms had come from there. They true ones never had been recorded. Her dead boss had been involved even before. That was why it had taken them so long to look and were going to ship away everyone under suspicion in case they'd missed someone.

After garbled noise from the guard, resembling standard, a human and Vulcan, both wearing the same crew clothes but with a patch which identified them as crew leaders, were produced to explain the job. She guessed that the miserable attempt at standard by the alien guards wasn't sufficient. Of course, these two would be rewarded by more than a ration. They were to divide up the stocks to fill orders, count or weigh it and package it. It would be picked up at their work station. They would then start on the next order immediately. If it wasn't finished by the end of the shift they would continue working until they did but not receive a dinner ration. Given how dirty and hungry they'd been, Megan wished she'd never seen a greysuit.

But it was too later for that, or her resolution to avoid the gritty part of life on Devon before they came. She'd never counted out a bin, or done a weight of grain, or wrapped roots for shipping. Nor she guessed had the rest, but from what she'd heard, they'd been working a farm of late. Hoping they didn't spend too many nights hungry, she took her position for the long day.

o0o

Willman had left him locked in the room, going off to arrange his punishment. His coat removed to be searched, sure they'd find something to justify the punishment, his leg was cold and hurting worse. Willman would leave a dose of the sedative in his locked quarters, but he'd had plenty to consider before. No doubt the instrument would be privately destroyed so he didn't lose a doctor to their overseers sitting above them.

But Willman had returned, giving him his coat and ordering him up and dressed. The drugs he'd taken had been recorded, but as he was entitled to them the punishment would be lessened. The door was open just in case anyone was listening. Stumbling after Willman, he knew everyone was watching. If he'd been pilfering pain meds, then it would explain his uneven walk at least.

When they reached his quarters, Bashir hobbling along the best he could in the cold, he waited outside his door while the locking mechanism was set. Willman then unlocked the door. He entered the small, dark room. Willman followed him in, and watched as Bashir climbed into bed, wincing when he moved his bad leg. He had taken off his shoes, leaving the coat and most of the clothes, along with the brace. "Your not wearing that when you sleep, are you?"

Bashir said grimly, "I've just been loosening it. It's hard to get on."

"But it's terrible for the circulation." Willman unsnapped it and removed it from Bashir's foot. He didn't sit it down or give it back. "You should take this now," he added.

Bashir swallowed the cup of brew. It would soon make him relax at least. It was obvious Willman wasn't going to give it back.

Then he headed for the door. "I'll be by to look over the leg tomorrow. You have three days of in-quarters restrictions, so consider yourself lucky. You have a good reason to need it." The door shut and his brace left with Willman. He lay in the dark room, his leg throbbing, wondering if he hadn't called disaster down on them.

Willman wouldn't turn him in, but someone else might. The night dragged on, and he finally fell asleep. But the Antelope crashed in his dream, and he wondered if those who died in the crash were the lucky ones.

No matter what Willman did, or how much contraband Sisko destroyed, when the Jem'Hadar came it wouldn't really matter anymore.

o0o

In her whole adult life on Devon, Megan's job had always had a tie to the warehouse. Either she'd recorded deals going in or out, and financial records of what it was worth. But she'd never been inside and didn't have any idea how huge it was.

Now she knew it far too well. Enough of their team had known what to do they had not incurred more punishment, but Megan had been spectacularly inept at everything. She had recounted things twice since she was having trouble remembering. She'd packaged the orders, but they didn't fit in the box. Finally she'd been assigned hauling the empties to the back unpacking them behind their working area.

It wasn't *just* her fault, because none of the others were much better, but had at least been able to manage. The new woman hadn't much tried, given her reception. In the end, they were one of four work groups who worked past dinner, and the slowest.

It got worse. Instead of going towards the elevators, they went to an outside door. Each was handed a blanket to try to keep dry. Outside a light snow was blowing. The ground hadn't been covered yet, but it was icy cold to bare feet. They were pushed down the side and to a tall tilting pathway. Icy cold by the time they arrived inside the building, the wet blankets were taken. The only good part was it was warm. Shoved inside the elevator, they were returned to their cage. The others were already back. One at a time, the group with the least wasted first, they'd been taken separately.

The noise annoyed everyone but they were too cold to care. Megan made for the back but wasn't fast enough. Her things had been pushed up nearer the door. Wrapping herself like a mummy, she pulled it closer, at least not having lost her wall. The rest had disappeared into little bundles of blankets, huddled together. All she had was herself. Inside she had slippers, and almost resorted to pulling them out. But since she and her fellow exile were the least useful she didn't want to draw more attention.

The blanket over her head, she felt someone next to her. Looking out, she saw the blacksuit. "I can give you some pointers about tomorrow," she whispered.

"I suppose I need some," she said. "I can't feel my feet."

Hands reached out, massaging them. "They know about him and you. They didn't like him much so they'll never like you. And I got demoted down. Good thing or I'd be dead."

Megan was just enjoying the way her feet could feel again. "I guess we work there until they send us away," she whispered.

"He's not in this area. They're going to make him an example and force him to marry someone. Not sure who they have as hostages."

The cold and the ordeal and the coming miserable time faded and disappeared. She heard the laugh and the way Chele greeted her. Devastated, she said softly, "I do. And he'll do it to save them."

"He'll try to," she said. "Something's happening. They don't trust their own, like there's an enemy within. At least we won't be near enough to any of that for it to matter."

"What happens to kids?" asked Megan, knowing she didn't want to know.

"They get used. They're useful." Megan was shaking, but not from the cold. But her new friend pulled off her blanket, sliding inside Megans, wrapping the second layer about both. "Sleep," she said as her arms went around Megan and all she saw was a dark shelter and the door as it had shut that day he'd taken them from her. Now, luck had finally run out for all of them.

o0o

After nearly two months had passed, the viral epidemic was officially over. There had been no new cases, and all those with active cases were recovered. There had been no more deaths. But in its wake the virus and the secondary infections had left people tired and cold and weak.

There were still plenty of patients. They were not suffering from severe ailments, but due to weakness were just as sick. The most common was what should have been a very mild flu. Willman and his staff were being kept quite busy.

Life had started to return to "normal". But it was nowhere near the same. Most departments were open, but with much of the staff still out sick were running at a very minimal level. Sisko did not insist on anything that was deemed unnecessary, and insisted that nobody work long hours.

Walter Vance had moved in with his friend's early that winter, and they had cared for one another since then. They all had colds and were supposed to stay inside, and whoever felt the best carried in the food from the moving cart which now delivered it.

Willman was sure that Vance had nothing to do with the experiment. But he was sure he'd helped hide the machines. When they came, they'd take Vance too.

He permitted Bashir to work one shift a day. He'd removed all his books from his quarters for the first week, giving him time to think. At first, if he wasn't on shift he was locked inside. Later, seeing the apathy in his eyes, he'd allowed him his books and then given permission for him to eat his meals in the hospital commissary. But he wasn't permitted to speak to anyone or his privileges would immediately be withdrawn.

Lock restriction was a very serious punishment, and despite extreme curiosity, no one knew what he'd done to deserve it. The cover story was missing drugs, and the implication was that Bashir had been treating himself for the pain without permission. If anyone asked, the supply report had been amended to back up the story.

Bashir had been doing much better at work, too. Perhaps it was the rest, but Willman suspected a great weight had been lifted from his mind. The device was gone now. He didn't have to be afraid someone would find it.

He wouldn't be off restrictions for a long while, but Willman thought he might relax them a little at a time. First, he needed more casaba leaves and had gotten a permit to get them.

Bashir needed exercise, and there was no one else he could trust to help.

o0o

He had been on "lock restriction" for two weeks. He was done with his shift and meal, and waited outside Willman's door to be escorted back to his quarters and locked in. He'd seen a few glimpses of Lonnie that day, but as they were forbidden as part of the restrictions, didn't expect her to say anything. He knew he'd been lucky, considering the alternative. Usually he was more than ready to return home, since Willman's medication did little to relieve the pain.

Willman finally opened the door. Bashir had been leaning against the wall, taking the weight off his leg, and shifted himself forward where he was standing before Willman noticed. He followed the doctor out of the hospital and to the little cluster of cubicles where home had come to be. He waited at the door, still without saying a word, as it had been every day since the first. When Willman opened the door, he went in. This time, however, Willman followed him inside.

Bashir had already started getting ready for bed when Willman came into the bedroom. "Is the new brace working out better?" he asked.

Except when necessary Willman hadn't said a word to him in two weeks-in fact, no one had-and he was surprised by the conversation. "Yes, it's much easier to put on, and it's not so tight."

Willman had devised a different design, this one with a small spring that allowed his foot to bend slightly and an easy "snap" opening that he couldn't adjust as he had the other one. But he could put it on himself with no trouble.

"Good. I'd like to look at the foot," he said. Without comment, Bashir let Willman remove his brace and socks. He studied the scarred area around his foot. Bashir was ready to go to sleep, and didn't pay much attention. Willman suddenly hurrumped. "If I were to disable the nerve here," pointing at just above his ankle, and here, pointing near his knee, I could still give you the mobility of the joints, but this part of the leg would be permanently numb. Could you live with that?"

Bashir looked at him oddly. "Don't you mean cut the nerve?"

"No. We'd have to take another walk to cut some leaves first." He looked worried. "We've got something to destroy. But we need to get all the useable leaves we can to replace what we've used. I suppose I could adjust this for you when we were done." He held up the brace.

Bashir knew what he was considering. It was usually done to temporarily relieve pain before repairs to damaged tissue could be done. It would have to be done in the cave. "I think I'd enjoy a walk," said Bashir.

"One other thing. When you done tomorrow come by and pick up your key. You're off full restrictions in the morning."

"Thank you, Sir," said Bashir, carefully. He didn't know what he was thanking him about most.

It got very cold at night, and he wore his other jacket to sleep in. He took off the nice one, sliding his foot on the floor, as he heard Willman leave and the door lock for the last time. Hanging it up, he noticed an odd lump in the pocket he had his gloves. Pulling out the gloves, he found something else at the bottom, wrapped so that its shape would not be obvious.

He was grateful to Willman, not only for keeping it from Sisko, but for taking the device. He couldn't destroy it himself. Willman had done him a favor. Looking at the pocket, he dreaded what he would find. Tearing off the wrap, he discovered his instrument had been returned. He would have to find a new hiding place. But for that night, he hid it beneath a stack of clothes and went to bed. Only later, when his throbbing leg wouldn't let him sleep, did he get out of bed and numb his leg, hating the device he thought he'd rid himself of.

o0o

It had been almost a month since he'd done his last detailed examination of Blanchard. By all standards, he was still a very sick man. But he had surprised Willman. The series of severe infections had almost all improved. Blanchard was relatively aware and could answer his questions again. He coughed continuously, and Willman noted there was some lung damage from the disease this time, in his report. There was much more than that wrong with Blanchard, but those symptoms hadn't shown up yet, and Willman didn't expect him to last long enough for it ever get that far. But for him it was a victory, and if by some miracle Blanchard did survive, he would find some other cause.

Jaro, however, did not look well. His symptoms could be attributed to any of the current maladies going around and his health was not badly damaged. So Willman hoped to leave without questions this time. But Jaro did not cooperate.

"Doctor, I'm very concerned about something," he said, hurrying after Willman and catching him by the front door. "It's Justin's mind. He doesn't seem to remember a lot of things."

This was very bad. The poisoning had been worse than he'd thought. But he told the Bajoran it was probably from the fever; he couldn't say if he'd remember later or not.

Jaro looked worn out. Blanchard needed a lot of care. Willman suggested sending a medic to stay the night, so he could sleep. But Jaro refused and Willman didn't ask any questions. Blanchard had been lucky, but it couldn't last forever. Eventually, Jaro would have plenty of time to rest.

o0o

Lonnie watched the way he walked, placing most of the weight carefully on his good leg, and only as much as he could stand on the other. She had missed him when he was on restrictions. Since he'd been allowed a few hours of free time, he'd been more quiet than normal, and even his work was marked by resignation. He wore a nicer face for his patients, but even that was worn and tired.

He'd hardly said a word during lunch, explaining he hadn't slept well the night before. But he didn't look like he'd gotten much sleep since he had been taken off restrictions. She'd heard the latest rumor of medical contraband, and was sure it hadn't been supply drugs that had gotten him in trouble. He'd been walking far too easily, and now was back to the labored limp he'd had before. Willman had deliberately kept it quiet. He could so easily have been gone by now. He must have spent hours alone thinking about how close it had come.

She would let him choose when to talk. He knew he was lucky, but gave him room. He had to decide if he was ready to share, but she feared that would be a long time from now. As for Dr. Willman, she simply tried to be a little extra considerate to him. It was the only way she could say thank you.

o0o

Jadzia gazed out the small window of Ben's small inner office. Ben had quietly sipped his lunch, finally breaking the silence with the worse question he could have asked. "I presume you've heard the rumor about the device Willy found." He looked depressed.

"And you're not going to ask him about it."

Ben stared at the table. "If I did I'd have to ask him who he got it from. The way I heard it, he found it on somebody. It's not too hard to figure out who that was."

Jadzia shook her head, "I wondered, one day. He wasn't limping. I warned him to be careful."

Ben said, very thoughtful, "Right now, I'd rather be me than him. Willy can't protect him from Them, if they want him. I just hope we don't find anything else. The Vorta is running out of patience. When he starts making demands," Sisko shrugged, "what do I do?"

Jadzia watched his face. "What you have to. Whatever is left."

"That is what I'm afraid of," said Sisko.

o0o

Sitting in the small filing room, James watched out the window. The snow lay in fluffy, picture perfect piles in the square, giving the trees a white, powdered look. The birds had gone for the winter, but some of the children were playing. He didn't know where the others had gone, but since his life had been disrupted by his ghost-life some had never come back. He was not unhappy, but he missed them, and with the painting complete he was making a special border. He was decorating it with birds and flowers, but especially with the children who had left.

And since the great disruption, so few of them wanted to play. It was so quiet now, too quiet. He was used to their boisterous noise, and open joy. But the children who rolled in the snow and chased each other in long white trails did not make so much noise, and moved away quietly when hushed by the adults. He tried to bring them back with the pictures on the frame, but he knew they were merely memories committed to paint.

He did not know how to call them back to his world, and the joy he had taken in his portal had been tempered with a grief he could not quite deal with. He had never gotten back the same routine, and had come to only sit for a short time after painting, and often not at all before sleep. If he was lucky he could find some of them in his dreams. But the dreams ended when he woke, and he would have to remember they were gone all over again.

o0o

Sisko had said good bye to Jadzia, and gone back to work. He was trying to catch up a little, aware of the warning that if the proper paperwork did not come in soon, supplies would be cut. They couldn't afford that, no matter how much he hated insisting on the completed reports.

James came back into the room to get another stack of papers. He had been much quieter of late, again, but Sisko thought he looked sad. But there were so many that looked that way now. It was probably something he was simply expecting to see. At least in his world, James was allowed to be happy.

o0o

In the week since his initial improvement, Blanchard had started to fail again. Willman knew without looking at any reading that it wasn't a virus that was gradually going to end his life. But there were many terms that would work. It would make no difference to Blanchard, but perhaps it would help Tarlan once his friend was gone.

Willman had finally insisted on a nurse in attendance. The nurse's assignment was as much to care for Tarlan as the dying Blanchard. Tarlan had begged him to reconsider, but Willman had made it a condition of not admitting Blanchard and he had relented. He had come to care about the Bajoran who had lost everything he had and now was going to lose his only friend as well. He hoped fate might be a little kinder to him than his friend.

Perhaps, in the end, the only thing that would save them was some still hidden fate. But he was no longer optimistic.

o0o

The first glimpse of the future that awaited exiles like Megan had been in the warehouse. After their initial few days the heavy presence of guards disappeared, and more of the "crew leaders" had replaced them, watching even more closely and correcting anything done wrong with snapped out orders. The word was they had been brought in from their destination, where CA was trusted to perform as ordered. They were backed up with guards, still armed, but it was not them which made the most lasting impression. It was the men and women with the patches as they looked at their involuntary laborers. It was the deep loathing in their eyes that made Megan hurry up and learn so fast how to do her job, so they would finish and be able to leave to the relative peace of their cells.

Within their small group, Megan was assigned the counting. She was good at that. She weighted but did not package. Several of the women had grown up in the outskirts and knew how to coordinate the team. She had been obliged to give up her corner, but without her friend's help, would have lost the wall as well. The spot allowed for them had more glare from the lights and a persistent draft. She didn't sleep well because they were in the way and had to be stepped over at night. She welcomed being tired now since if she was tired enough she didn't notice. The standards had already been redefined. But at least the aliens still patrolled there and hadn't even looked at them.

Robbie, her new friend, had heard of massive trouble on Bajor. The two women could only imagine the reaction if the one on Devon was any clue. They busied themselves quickly when the tall woman with the cold eyes was watching. Megan did not want to know how she had gotten that way. Unspoken between them was the belief that these were the survivors of their own discipline, the ones that had passed all the tests. CA owned them and defined them. Megan and the rest had brought shame to what they believed in and they were not to be forgiven.

It had been a long and miserable two weeks since the first day they'd worked. More work crews were added each time, from the other hall, as they judgements were passed. Megan watched the men to see if he was among them, but never saw him. Since she had slipped to the bottom all she looked forward to was moving on. It didn't particularly matter if it was better, but there were too many ghosts on Devon and the cell was too tiny to escape them in her dreams.

Her wish was granted that night, a few hours after sleep time had begun. She was curled around in her blanket, Robbie huddled near. There had been a problem and everyone was obliged to take the long route back, through the cold. They had just succeeded in getting warm when the bell dinged and the lights went more than fully bright.

Neither moved, but the others were stirring, watching the corridor and listening for sounds..

The alien guards, too many of them, marched in and stopped. The room went silent, even small body movements stilled.

"Gather your belongings. Carry your blankets. Be ready."

A nervous anticipation took over the room. For Megan there was nothing to gather. She kept all her things inside the bag and never opened it. But some did, and things were being hurriedly stowed. Some had none, and just sat with their blankets held around them. They had been full CA and been pruned out later after their quarters had been cleared. Megan wondered if the ones who had taken charge of their little group, neither with anything, had been reminded every time they looked at her bag.

But the first cell, at the far end, opened and the residents moved out, guards behind them, to an open door. Gradually each cell was emptied and the slow procession all wound its way into the corridor. It waited while the other section was emptied as well, filling in the back of the line. She tried to look back but wary of the guards she didn't turn around.

They were told to move and she followed. Her things, as precious as they were, were heavy. She and the others with them slowed the line as they dragged all they had left behind them. She tried to think of that rather than the encroaching reality. Eventually she reached a turbolift, loaded until it was full. At the bottom there were no aliens, just CA. Tired and resigned, she just wished it would be over soon as she was added to the line.

o0o

At the first table she had been relieved of her belongings, except for the blanket. Her bracelet had been read and from that the bundle was labeled, a form listing both the number on her hand and that as well. Then it was dropped into a large bin with others. She was pointed ahead, past a line of those who had been added later and were matched with their own, briefly, before it vanished into the bin. The line, now lengthened, slowed at the next table, each told to sit and scanned, then given a hypo. There was not a word said. The CA people in medical blue did not look at them at all. Motioned to go, she rubbed the injection. It tingled. The skin felt warm. She wondered if it was some sort of inoculation and hoped it didn't make them sick. But mostly she just let the growing numbness fill her so she didn't have to feel anything.

The next table the women were told to sit and the men sent off to the side. She was told to lean forward. Someone took a handful of hair and trimmed. The messy cut proceeded until it was ragged and short. Standing, hurrying along away from them when they were done, she felt the wisps which they had missed, wondering why, the numbness slipping a little before she filled it in again.

The men returned, shaved and their hair trimmed short as well with the remnants of some heavy cream on their faces, but looking like CA now. Then all of them were shoved forward into lines which led to several bulky looking machines. Each persons left hand was stuffed inside and strapped down, then the top was closed. When they were done, they stood staring at it. She tucked her hand inside the blanket without thinking of it, as if it would make it invisible. The lines were very long and she had plenty of time to watch, and despite the numbness, she kept trying to see. But they were send on quickly and she was almost looking forward to her turn.

She shifted the blanket to her right hand when the time came. The machine was warm. Inside, it was smooth and something pressed against her hand. They read the bracelet again and started the machine. It had a warm tingle as it worked. She stood absolutely still and closed her eyes. It repeated the feeling twice more, and then opened, the strap releasing itself.

She didn't move. She didn't want to see. But she was gruffly ordered to go and stumbled forward, hiding her hand. Maybe if she didn't look, she thought. But the rest were now standing in an open area, quietly nervous, as the transport sat before them.

She looked down, her hand now decorated with an odd design. It was as if it had been always there, the skin undisturbed. Across it was a slash. In the bottom, near her wrist, was a Federation symbol. Human. She was staring at it now, transfixed, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. It was her friend. Her hand bore the same symbols.

"Bajoran caste symbol, kasari they say," whispered Robbie. "Most say sarki," she added.

Megan looked around to see if anyone noticed them talking but nobody was paying any attention. "How . . .?" she asked.

"They told me that is what they were going to do. The hair, that just shows everybody you were CA. So the people you have to live with know what to do with you."

Megan shivered. She looked towards the transport, now starting to move a little. The compartments would be loaded planet side and lifted off planet to be joined to a ship. Then they would say goodbye to home. Or what was left of it.

"What did they do with the others?" she asked, wondering if they'd had the same marks inflicted on them.

"Locked up. I was in front and saw them being loaded in." She looked at Megan. "I won't become what they have to to keep from this," she said, showing her hand.

She remembered his words that day, sitting outside her cell, saying good bye. "But he will," she whispered.

But Robbie had drifted closer, a line being formed as they were being stowed. Megan hurried after her. She didn't know how long it was going to take, but at least she would have some company. And maybe she would decide to tell a little more of the things she knew that marked her with such grim resignation. Megan didn't really want to know, but maybe if she was used to the idea a little it would be easier when it came.

o0o

Julian couldn't have moved as fast as he did along the still half frozen pathway, without his leg being numb, but Willman pushed him faster. He was furious. Something very bad happened and he had cornered Bashir, telling him they had to go for a walk.

There had been one other matter. He wanted to know where his leg device was. "I know I confiscated it and I know it disappeared. Where did it disappear to?" he had demanded of Bashir. Willman was determined to find it. Bashir gave up in the face of his determination. "I hid it."

"Where?"

"Not in the hospital."

"At least that's good. In your quarters?" There was a glum silence. "That was stupid of you. But at least it will be easy to find and bring along."

Willman had followed him by a few steps all the way to his quarters. He had continued inside. Bashir retrieved the device from its hiding place. Willman never took his eyes off of it.

"Show me." Bashir held it up. "How does your leg feel?"

"It hurts. I don't use it unless I have to."

"Good," said Willman, "Better make it numb now." Bashir ran it up his leg, from his foot to the knee, the relief washing over him. Willman took the device. "Here's your leaf bag." Bashir silently took the small container and went out the door. He didn't have to ask where they were going. But Willman wasn't done. "How did you find it?"

Bashir knew he was in trouble. Something had happened to scare Willman into taking the risk of going to the cave without a real reason to be there. "I didn't. When you let me off restrictions, I found it in my pocket that evening. I don't know who took it. I wasn't intending to look for it."

Willman stared at him. "You should have told me. Perhaps this situation would have been prevented. Get going."

He pulled on his gloves a few minutes later, keeping his hands warm, but he was sweating underneath the warm coat. It wasn't entirely due to Willman's fast pace. Willman had been very civil to him since he'd gotten off restrictions. Something else must have happened. He knew Willman well enough to be able to see that he was scared. He wondered what else they would find besides the casaba leaves.

Arriving at the cove, taking the time to catch his breath, Bashir waited where he'd been told. His heart was pounding. Willman was examining the opening to the cave.

"Someone was here. They didn't get it put back right but they tried. He glared at Bashir who looked anywhere but at Willman. "In, now," he said.

Bashir went in first, nearly slipping on the ice near the entrance. Willman caught him and he waited until Willman was inside. He followed him to the inner cavern. Near the opening he was ordered to sit. He couldn't see what Willman was doing but he could guess.

Willman abruptly stood up and walked towards where Bashir was sitting. He said very slowly, so that every word might sink in, "There are at least twelve instruments missing, probably a few more."

Bashir knew he hadn't had anything to do with that. "I didn't take them," he said looking at the ground. "I haven't been back here since we got the last supply of leaves."

He sounded miserable enough that Willman almost believed him. "You know what happens when the send in the Jem'Hadar to punish people."

"Yes." Bashir seemed to choke on the word.

"If you didn't take them you know who did."

Bashir was angry. He didn't know who to direct it at, but Willman was accusing him of a lie. "No. I do not know who took them. I took the one device, that's all. I didn't tell anyone where they were either. So go turn me over to Sisko if you want, but I didn't do it." He didn't shout, but the repressed anger was evident.

Abruptly, Willman sat down next to him, looking hopeless, the anger gone. "Someone did," he said softly. "I found one of them today hidden in the hospital. I suspect if I look harder I'll find the rest. But I can't do that because that would raise suspicion. So your going to do the looking."

"I'll be very careful about it." He was as subdued as Willman.

"We need to destroy what's here too. I don't know if there will be another chance. Stay put." Willman looked as devastated as he had when Bashir had first confirmed the origin of the virus.

Bashir sat where he was, wondering what Willman was doing with the box of instruments, rummaging around in it. "It's not here," he said finally. "I was going to fix your leg since we might not have another chance, but the instrument isn't here. If, no *when* you find it I'll find someplace to do it. It should give you more reason to look."

Bashir didn't say anything. He was carefully observing what Willman was doing with his device. He saw him place it back in the box. He watched as Willman turned to retrieve a second box of smaller items, piling them together. He could see it was tilted and would spill. He began to get up, slowly. The box began to slip in Willman's hands. Balancing on hands and knees he quickly reached behind Willman and took the device, shoving it into his coat pocket. He sat back, taking some of the spilled instruments, and filled the box.

Willman mumbled a thank you, picking up the last of the spill. He put the now damaged box on top of the other without looking inside. He lifted them up, telling Bashir to stay where he was. Standing, he disappeared deeper into the cave, returning with another box, this one wooden. By that time, Bashir had hidden the device where it could not be accidentally discovered. Willman would still treat him for the pain, never knowing that the real relief didn't come from his drugs.

He sat the other two boxes in the larger wooden one and pulled a small bottle from his pocket, dumping the entire contents of it in the box. A long cord was buried inside the box, held down by a rock. The cord was laid along the cave floor, Bashir following him out as it stretched outside the cave.

Willman lit the cord. He didn't reassemble the opening right away. Bashir took the bag given him and headed towards the casaba trees.

A few minutes later, while they were pulling the last leaves off the trees to replace some of the badly needed medicine, they heard the explosion. It was very muffled, but both men stopped to listen. Anything in the box would have been reduced to pieces.

"You won't have to worry about that device anymore," said Willman. Bashir only nodded, grateful that he was looking the other way, still wondering why he'd taken it back.

They gathered leaves for an hour. There wasn't much to gather and they were difficult to reach, but the effort might save a few more lives.

Willman finally looked at Bashir, "I'm going to have to tell Sisko about this. Anyone hiding things might go to Them." He looked broken, thought Bashir, ashamed of what was in his pocket, but not daring to do anything about it. Leaving, Willman looked around at the valley, and the two round trees. "There's going to have to be a very big crackdown now. More Ag stuff has appeared too." He looked back at the trees, "You know, Doctor, if They are coming I wish they'd just hurry up and get it over with."

end, Legacy, Year 1, part 1-4, Chapter 21


	23. Part 4Interesting Times Chapter 22

LEGACY

An Alternate History of the Dominion War

Year 1 - Innocence

Part 4- Interesting Times

Chapter 22

Willman was reminded of Bashir, trying to explain why he'd taken the device, when he sat across from Sisko. He should have destroyed the devices long before. Sisko's policy was simple. Contraband was to be eliminated when found. It could not be taken by someone else that way, and those who hid it remained unknown.

And Sisko was right. He didn't want to know who'd hidden the things, not anymore. He couldn't betray them when the time came to be tortured. He only hoped that Bashir hadn't doomed himself already.

Lonnie was a well trained medic, part of the way to being a doctor, but she didn't know enough yet. Over the remaining winter there wouldn't be time to train her, and come spring, the planting would again fill the hospital with a variety of infections.

Either he or Bashir had to survive. Given the rumors and Bashir's continuing restrictions, he was very afraid for his other doctor. The paperwork would back up the official reason, but he knew that Sisko wouldn't believe it.

If he didn't, Bashir might be the first to disappear.

Sisko was tired, and his look of resignation was all too obvious. Willman hated to make him feel worse.

"I've heard rumors," said Ben. Or could he be Ben today? Willman didn't much feel like being his friend Willy.

"Yes. It's true. Yesterday, I found two illegal medical devices hidden in the hospital. In the afternoon, the rest in the cave were destroyed."

Sisko wasn't in the mood to be Ben either. "I thought they had *already* been destroyed. I had your word on that. You claimed you'd destroy them quickly."

Willman understood how Bashir had felt, sitting on the floor with him standing over him, threatening doom. Sisko's policy was that mistakes of this sort were the responsibility of the department head.

"I did intend to," he said, thinking to himself that Bashir had said almost the same thing. It hadn't worked for him, either. "With the epidemic, and the aftereffects, and both of my staff doctors sick, there just wasn't time."

It was the truth. There hadn't been a moment to spare to go to the hills, and it would have been much too noticeable then.

"You understand that the failure to destroy the things, and the resulting loss of control is your responsibility."

"Yes. There is more. When I destroyed them, there were at least twelve devices missing."

Sisko stared at him with a flash of deep disappointment. Then he sighed. "And you have no idea where these things are."

"Since all of them were medical devices that only my staff would know about, I assume the missing things are with them, perhaps hidden in their quarters or the hospital."

Sisko's face became absolutely impassive. "I have the authority to institute a search of my own. All of your people would be required to leave both the hospital and their quarters without prior warning. All quarters would be throughly searched, including checking for hiding places in walls. In addition, each of your staff would be required to submit to an extensive personal search. The hospital itself would be sealed and everyone inside that wasn't part of your staff would face the same requirements."

Sisko paused, slumped, and pulled the baseball out of a drawer. "And anyone caught with contraband would be turned over to the Jem'Hadar. In our past experience with the Dominion, their captives were totally denied medical care. I would not be surprised if any and all supplies you receive would stop. Those on hand might be confiscated." He rolled the baseball around and stared at the wall. "It is what I *need* to do. It's probably the only thing He would accept. But if I do, we'll lose people we can't afford to. I have the same situation with Ag, though Blanchard is too sick to come. I've officially promoted Tarlan to his temporary replacement so someone can represent the department."

"Then do what you must," said Willman, wondering how many of his staff he would lose. He only hoped Bashir would not be taken as well. He didn't know if it would matter if they were denied the medicine and supplies they were allowed.

"It's not that simple," Sisko said quietly. "I'd have to order a colony wide search. We can't risk having medical care denied. And I don't know that it would keep them away anyway."

"Ben, " he said, now sure his friend had returned, "you have to do whatever will save the most. I've fought so many battles with Them this winter. Each patient I saved was a victory. But these things, they'll come if you don't get rid of them now. I've been there. You can't save all of them. Maybe the ones who took these things *deserve* to pay for it themselves."

Then Sisko put down the baseball. He straightened, looking Willman in the eyes. "I take it that includes a certain doctor."

Willman could play the same game. He didn't react. "I don't know who you mean. Bashir's on restrictions for taking drugs without permission."

Sisko studied him. "I know. You said you found *two* devices today. Are you sure you didn't find one of them a few weeks before?"

Willman wondered if he was being given a way out of the trap. "Actually I did. I marked it and put it back, hoping the guilty party would retrieve it. But nobody went near it and it was destroyed along with the rest. This rumor is just a rumor."

He knew Sisko was referring to the one about Bashir. Neither would put it into words. He watched as Sisko picked up the baseball and twirled it in his fingers. He watched Willman very carefully, as if deciding if he should officially believe him. Unofficially, both knew it was a lie.

Then he stopped playing with the ball, just holding it. "I'm relieved to hear that. Dr. Bashir can be difficult sometimes. I do hope he's learned his lesson."

Willman almost let down some of his guard. But he kept the relief to himself. "I certainly hope so. He's been very busy. I had to restrict him to one shift so he wouldn't work himself into another stay in bed."

"He does that." Ben appeared for a moment. "I hear he had a good walk yesterday."

Willy shrugged. "We got all the casaba leaves we could. I just happened to have the time to go and get them. He's pretty sore today, but doing better."

Sisko collapsed in his chair. Willy picked up the baseball as it rolled along the desk. "I can't force a search. I can't cross that line. But you have to find these things. Maybe somebody can help."

He meant Bashir. Sisko must have gathered that he helped with the devices. At least the one he'd stolen was gone now and he might be able to redeem himself. He could tell both of them were relieved about that one.

"I'll be holding a disciplinary meeting soon. It's going to heavily effect both yours and Tarlan's departments. But keep this to yourself."

Willy rolled the baseball back to Sisko, who stopped it with his hand. "I will. Maybe we could have dinner in a few days."

"That sounds good," said Sisko. He'd have an update, if there was anything new to say, and they'd discuss it there.

"I have work to do," said Willman, "and it looks like you do too."

"I'll see you at dinner," said Sisko.

But Willman saw the fear that all of this was too late and his only real option was to betray his own soul. He was very afraid that that was what it would take to keep them away.

o0o

Tarlan struggled with the coat. It was Justin's but if he had to go to see Sisko he'd have to be dressed properly. He reluctantly wore the pin. Sisko had forced him into the position he'd have refused when that was an option.

But Justin was dying. He might improve a little, but not much. It wouldn't make much of a difference anyway. His mind was so badly effected that he'd never really be able to fill his role.

Jaro pushed away the grief. It was so hard to see his friend fade into oblivion. Justin hadn't really had any friends before he'd met Jaro, and somehow Jaro couldn't remember ever having one so close.

When he died, the pin would pass permanently to Jaro. But he'd have to take it. Once he'd entered into to the secret tests, he'd given up any options of refusing.

He got the jacket on well enough. He should probably ask for one a size larger for himself. Unfortunately, he'd need it.

Justin was asleep. The nurse who checked on him nodded at Jaro. "He'll be fine. Go do your job," she said in reassurance.

"Thank you, Kay," he answered. She had been very sick, and to give her more rest she'd been assigned to watch Justin. He felt a little better with a nurse in attendance.

He took his first walk to Sisko's office. It wasn't far. Since the illness, he'd moved into Justin's quarters.

One of Sisko's aides opened the door at his tap. He walked inside, growing very nervous as the moment approached. Waiting while the young man informed his superior, he looked about the room.

Everywhere were piles of reports. The month-end cycle was near and he'd had to sign most of Ag's this time. At least in winter mode, there wasn't much to do. Come spring, he'd be far too busy.

He coughed rather violently. Justin had been effected the worse, but he knew he hadn't escaped the poison from the fumes. When Justin died, he hoped he would follow suit before he could not stand his life.

"Thanks, Randy," said Sisko, coming to the door. "Go get lunch."

Randy disappeared outside while Tarlan stiffly sat opposite Sisko.

"Welcome to your new position," Sisko began. Looking at the jacket, he noted, "Perhaps you need a new jacket."

"Yes," he said hesitantly, not knowing if he should call Sisko Sir. "This is Justin's and I cannot quite fit in it."

"I'll see you get one. Let Morris know the size when we're done."

Then Sisko was quiet. He picked up a white ball sitting on his desk and rolled it around in his hands. "I know this is difficult for you. But you're close to Blanchard and someone has to be responsible for the department. If you need any help on the reports, I'll send one of my people to answer any questions."

"I shall be fine," said Tarlan, wondering when the formalities would be over and he'd get to the real reason for the session.

"Good. Now, Mr. Tarlan, do you understand the meaning of being *responsible* for the department?"

Tarlan was wary, but kept most of it to himself. "I believe so. The reports must be completed. The staff must be assigned their tasks. I must attend all required meetings and present the needed reports." He paused. "I participated in the Provisional Government of my home world for a time in an official position. Fulfilling my duties was not the reason I resigned."

Sisko nodded, holding the ball in his hand as if he was drawing strength from it. "Yes. I know you understand those. Do you understand *fully* what you are responsible for?"

His voice was calm. He didn't shout. But Tarlan wished he'd traded places with Justin in the cave that moment. Jaro did understand. He just didn't want to be in that place.

"I know I will be held responsible for the violations found in my department."

Now the real reason for the talk was out. "Actually, Mr. Blanchard is responsible for those, but he is too ill to answer. So you have a new chance to right the situation."

Tarlan looked at the impassive face, worried he would say the wrong thing. "How may I do that, Sir?" he asked.

Sisko's tone softened a little. "That is what I want to discuss. How well do you know your new aides?"

Tarlan hardly knew them at all. "Not well. I wasn't involved very much in day to day things."

"Be careful around them. You are aware of the recent discoveries. It's almost certain that members of your staff were responsible for hiding these things. You must make sure *all* have been found and can be verified as destroyed or *you* will be held responsible for any others."

Tarlan wished he could resign and walk away that moment. Sisko knew about the test as well. He probably believed that both had known about the machines hidden away.

If Sisko could prove it, he'd turn both of them over to the Jem'Hadar. Behind the impassive mask, there was ice.

Tarlan had no idea how to look. "If you have any suggestions, I would welcome them."

"Do you know Dax? She's head of Supply. She has come up with some good ideas before. Talk to her. I'll let her know you'll be over today."

Tarlan could feel the pit underneath him growing deeper. "Thank you, Sir."

"Now, let me make very clear what I do if you don't find these things. I'm empowered to do a colony wide search. Since most of the aides in Ag live in the general Residential section it would have to be colony wide. This will happen without warning. My people will look in every nook and cranny, and each person will be required to undergo an extensive search of their person, including department heads. If contraband is found in a home, the occupants go the Jem'Hadar. If it's found in an office, those who work there go to the Jem'Hadar. If it's found on a person, that person goes to the Jem'Hadar. Do you understand me?"

Tarlan couldn't remember much but the frequent mention of Jem'Hadar. He knew things must be hidden. Given the alternative he was certain Sisko would pursue, he wanted to find them. But how?

"I do." He hesitated. "May I see your friend this afternoon? I have no idea how to do this."

Sisko looked at the time. "Certainly. Actually, she'll be here soon. We usually share lunch. Why don't you join us today?"

Tarlan knew the invitation wasn't a friendly one. He wanted to find a way to keep Sisko from staging the search as well. And he also saw the symbolism. There was a careful hierarchy there, and he'd just been bumped up a notch.

"I would be pleased," he said in his most polite voice.

"Good, then, come with me."

He followed Sisko into the outside office. Morris had returned, and was sorting reports at his desk. "Randy, he needs a new jacket. Get him the form to take to supply."

Morris pulled a form from a shelf and handed it to Tarlan, not looking up. "I've almost got this stack ready for you, Sir."

"Good. Oh, three for lunch today."

Morris nodded, and Sisko indicated a smaller office to the side. Hesitant, Tarlan followed him inside.

Sisko had the ball. He sat it on a stand on his desk in the room, relaxing in his chair. "My own office, and where we have more private discussions."

Tarlan was tugging at the jacket, which pulled at his shoulders. "I am sorry, Sir, but this is uncomfortable."

"Go ahead and take it off, " Sisko said. "Here's a pen. Might as well get your wardrobe request filled out. Add a few shirts and the rest too. I believe with Mr. Blanchard so ill you'll need them."

Tarlan tried to ignore the implication while filling out the form. He tried to pretend it was just about clothes. But Sisko was in a talkative mood.

"What part of Bajor are you from?"

"I lived in Rakantha Province. My home was near the Bestri wood before we were forced to move."

"Were you resettled?"

He had no idea why Sisko was asking such personal questions, but saw no harm in answering. "Yes. We were sent to the Singha resettlement center. We didn't remain there long. The occupation ended."

Sisko appeared in a reflective mood. "That's near Gallitep."

"Near enough."

"Mr. Tarlan, please understand. Whatever acts are necessary here, I will not make this place into another Gallitep."

Tarlan shivered. He'd seen the pitiful remains of the victims. Even for the Cardassians, it was terrible. For a moment, he understood Sisko's point of view. "No, we must not do that," he said.

But had they already? Had the tests doomed these people to die as badly as those in that place? Would it take a few sacrifices to save them?

Would he be one of them? Justin wouldn't live long enough for it to matter.

There was a tap at the door. A tall woman with spots on her face stood waiting with Morris, carrying one of the bowls of soup. "Come in," said Sisko.

"I thought you might be having a private conversation," she said.

"We're done with that one."

She settled in the other chair, sitting a bowl in front of Tarlan.

"Thank you," he said.

Sisko introduced him. "This is Mr. Tarlan. He has a problem you might be able to help him with."

"Alright, please explain."

Tarlan realized he had to do that himself. Sisko was expecting him to take the responsibility.

He envied Justin, busy forgetting his life. But he did as he must. The lunch was good. He even enjoyed having company with his soup. That afternoon, his staff would meet an entirely new Tarlan Jaro.

o0o

He picked up his new Jacket from Supply before going back to work. He also got three shirts, three pairs of trousers, and a new pair of shoes. Laden with clothes, he went home to change first.

Kay was with Justin and he didn't disturb them. She was feeding him. Justin could no longer eat on his own.

Slowly, he dressed in all his new clothes. They were slippery and stiff, not softened like most of what he had. He put the pin on his collar where it would be very visible. The new jacket fit perfectly.

Studying himself in the mirror, he combed his hair very carefully and slicked it in place with some sticky goo from one of the plants.

He was ready.

Kay was finished feeding Justin when he came out. She looked him over. "Very fancy," she said.

"Yes," was all he could say.

He could tell she didn't much like them.

He marched into his office with head held high. Most of his staff was there. He pulled the nearest one into his office.

"I'm calling a meeting in fifteen minutes. I want all staff, off duty or not, from top to bottom, in this office by then."

He tried to be as cold as Willman and Sisko. From the look on the young man's face, he assumed he had succeeded.

"I'll get them, Sir," said the staffer. Tarlan wasn't entirely sure of his name.

He went to the small room they'd used to store materials for the garden. Finding the right tub with a suitable cover, he sliced open a slit big enough for anything hidden to fit. Then he taped the sides closed.

He entered his office, putting the bin on the floor.

Closing the door, he stood ready to make his speech.

He kept remembering how firm Sisko had been and how terrifying the implications were.

"I'm leaving the office after this is over. My door will be left open. Everyone here knows about the recent findings of illegal devices from this department. If any of you have one, or know where one is, put it in the box. No questions will be asked. The things will be destroyed."

He watched them, astonished at his determination. He wondered what Justin would have said. "Now, you have until the end of tomorrow to do this. I will check the box in the morning and empty it. Then I will check again the next morning and we will be done. That is all the time you have."

They looked nervous. He was certain a few were much too worried to be innocent, and privately noted it.

"After that, if any illegal items are found in this department I will inform Director Sisko. If he has further reason to do so, he'll order a search of the entire colony, one as extensive as the Jem'Hadar would conduct. You'll all be required to submit to a search of your own bodies as well. And if anything is found, those who are near will be turned over to the Dominion. If you want to risk this you may, but I doubt any of you would like the results." He watched them, eyes cold and firm, noting they were all nervous now.

He opened his door. "Before the box becomes available, my office will be searched and verified to be free of contraband. Afterwards it will be searched again, and if any is found every single person in this department will be under lock restrictions unless there is some reason for you to be working. This will last until spring operations begin. That is several months away. There will be *no* soup privileges issued either. So do not try to plant anything. If you do it will go in the box and be destroyed, and you'll all be spending most of the next two months inside a locked building."

He looked at them calmly, astonished at himself. "Is this absolutely clear?"

They were shocked. He could tell they had expected to walk all over his authority and yet now believed every word.

He meant them, too. Most of them lived in the small, cramped quarters erected after the takeover and there was very little to do. They could be trapped inside for weeks at a time. He knew they would think about that when they went home that night and were forced inside by curfew.

"Yes," said each of them.

"Sit at your desks while the search of my office commences."

He watched while four security people turned over his office completely. Sensitive papers were boxed and hauled away so the room could be left unlocked. Nothing was found.

He and Justin had had no reason to hide little things. Underneath the calm, firm mask he wondered if the hidden things in the cave shouldn't be given up too. He'd even consider informing Sisko about them anonymously himself if it would keep some of these people alive. He'd been at Gallitep, not long after the liberation. He could still remember the stench.

He opened the door and looked at them, the reeking odor filling his memories. "I expect to find something in that box tomorrow."

Then he left. He paused near Sisko's office, but went home instead.

Kay was working with Justin. He slipped into his room, and changed. Dressed in comfortable clothes, he took the pin from his shirt and put it on his own, well worn coat. He closed the door behind him.

Standing at the door to Justin's room, he told Kay he would be taking a walk.

o0o

Having been in the front of the line, Megan and her friends had taken the desirable part of the cage, at the back, when they'd been loaded on the transport. It was larger than most, divided into individual cells, and a locked off area in back. They had established their space so easily since while the 'room' across from them was at capacity, their side was only half full.

As it locked up and the lights dimmed, the series of transports now loaded, it hadn't been real that she was leaving home, that she'd never see it again. It wasn't home anymore, not really, but she was used to the color of the sky and the weather and the seasons and even the buildings, even if now they held only sadness. The others were very quiet as well, rolling themselves in their blankets and falling asleep in the dimmed 'night' light. She couldn't sleep, and lay listening to the sounds. There were more than a few tears. She wished she could grieve, but she'd have to feel to do that. Maybe what ever place they arrived would be a way to start a new life, however much it lacked. Everything that had gone before was fading as the transport drew them further and further from home.

She was dozing, not quite asleep a day or so later when the lights blinked, indicating they were detaching. They pulled themselves into position as the transport jerked itself free, then started to glide. The engines caught and they took a very short ride to another docking ring.

It was odd. They vaguely understood how the transportation system worked. The transports themselves were short range. They linked up with larger ships which pulled them, presumably some with warp drive. Usually when they stopped for more cargo, they landed on the surface.

This was clearly different. The hallway lit first, then their room. They'd started calling it that since at least it looked like one. The rest went dark.

A blacksuit came first, surveying the space, and they moved back a little more. At least they'd still claim the best. Then two more with rolling carts, and one with a rifle.

"Remain back and do not move until the transport is detached," they were ordered.

Nobody moved.

But they opened the door, the third blacksuit followed by two worker bees in a pale green. She noticed their hand mark was different but couldn't see it closely. Twelve bundles were lined up along the front, then hooked into the floor so they'd stay. The workers, nervous and hurried, scurried quickly out after they'd maneuvered their baggage into place.

Nobody moved, stunned by the display of absolute subservience. Those that had stopped and watched the unfortunates outside their first compound might have looked, but Megan thought it likely they'd been like her and tried not to.

Now it was impossible not to see. Pressing herself against the wall, as far as she could to back away, she just stared as their new companions were loaded.

They wore the green colored clothes. Their hands had a distinct marking with small symbols. And they were connected by their right foot with a cuffed cord.

Seated at one end, where they could reach the facilities the bundled cords were locked into place, and the door shut. Each carried a blanket. Almost immediately the lights blinked and the doors sealed and they detached.

The transport was shaking, the vibration unnerving, as it seemed to go faster. The situation unknown, Megan's group didn't try to move.

"Just catching up, the ship will wait," said a woman among their new passengers.

Not a word was said until the docking clamps were timely in place and the lights had gone to normal. The normal tow was smooth and silent. It was still night but nobody was sleeping.

Finally one of their own moved a little closer. "Could I see your hand?' she asked.

The woman held it out. "It's a slash. You never heard of slashies?"

Robbie had, and looked away. Megan knew about sarki, and they did have a slash, but what was this?

"Why the cords?" asked the same woman.

"So we don't try to get away and mix with you. If we did they'd just pull al of you as a freebie. But we decided. This dirt farm is successful. They've been cleared. We'll just work, but if we don't go there we go to Bajor. Like you are."

Nerves were on edge now. Megan tried very hard to not think of the yard where they'd had the slaves they never looked at. "What does the slash mean?" she asked.

"That we're paid for. Any dirt farm even a marginal one is better than that place. Maybe you'll be lucky and they'll need more."

Megan laid down, as the rest did, no more conversation needed. Throwing the blanket over her face, she stared into the greyness. No home. No destination. No idea what they even were. It wasn't just the memories that were slipping away, but all of it.

Sometime later she felt Robbie's hand on hers. "That's what they'll do to us, you know. That's why it's slashed. Lower caste sarki, same thing on Bajor. They can tell we're CA. They don't want us either."

Megan fell asleep some time after that. A while later they detached again and their temporary visitors were removed. Or went home? How could a place that bought you ever be home, she wondered. And yet nobody would ever forget they'd been there.

o0o

Tarlan didn't sleep well. He understood Sisko's fears, especially after the mention of Gallitep. That's what had happened to the Federation colony that hadn't cooperated. And he'd heard of other atrocities by the Dominion that made him believe the story.

How could they have risked everyone's lives for a test of something that nobody could even use?

He hadn't hidden the things in the cave, at least. But he was afraid when those were found it would doom them all.

How could he tell them where the cave was without it leading directly to himself?

He looked at the pile of documents on the table. He knew how to direct them, but didn't want it in his own writing.

One pile of documents had been in error and been reprinted. He could cut these apart. They'd be burned anyway.

He started looking for words. On a plain sheet of paper he started assembling them. It wasn't hard to get there. After that he wrote in clipped words, "There is a replicator and many other things here."

Justin was dying and would never know of the betrayal. He was certain that Vance knew, but he hadn't been seen for months.

Others knew, he was sure, but now they could not hold it against him that he did.

His chest hurt. The walk had made him cold and he kept coughing. Perhaps the test would extract its own penalty soon enough.

He glued the words in place with the same glue available to everyone. When it dried he folded the paper and slid it in his good jacket.

Tomorrow, he'd slip it in the bin. Then he'd take it to Sisko. It would be his problem then.

Tarlan went to bed after that. Justin had slept all day and the night nurse was always different. Some days he woke and others he didn't.

Jaro couldn't face him that night even if he'd been awake.

For once, he slept in peace. It might help or hurt, but it was as good as done.

o0o

Sisko looked at the paper in his hand. Tarlan had found ten banned tools in his box that morning, and issued a new warning that if any sign of the tape being touched was there, all of them were under lock restrictions until spring. Looking at the Bajoran, it was almost like seeing a new man.

He knew where the paper had come from. Tarlan must have spent a long time assembling it. He'd have to ask the group to dinner tonight. Perhaps Willman could suggest a way to destroy it. Tarlan should be able to help, but he wouldn't ask. His hint about Gallitep had been more successful than he'd hoped. Or perhaps he was feeling guilty at last.

He looked different. Everything he wore was crisp and clean. The pin was worn where everyone would see it. It was ashamed it was probably too late.

"I expect more to show up tomorrow." Tarlan even sounded different, as if a large rain cloud had blown away and the sun come out.

"Your sure this came from a staffer."

"It had to be. The only ones who could get to the box were staff. I believe this is the source of the things used for that test."

"It has to be. We don't plan to catch anyone. We have to destroy these things, though. Would you be willing to help?"

Tarlan hesitated. He didn't cover his guilt quite good enough but Sisko thought he deserved a chance to make it up. "We have chemicals left over from the small field in the warehouse. They are useful for fertilizer and soil amendments, but in the right combination would burn. I'll put them together if you wish. But I don't think it would be wise for me to participate."

"Good enough. Please do that. Make sure there's enough."

Sisko knew he'd been there. But he didn't care anymore. He'd done all he could to make up for it.

"I'll prepare them, but need to know when you need them. It would be dangerous to have them sit."

"I'll let you know tomorrow."

o0o

Willman stared at the paper. "He actually told you. Maybe we should have pressed him before."

"It wouldn't have worked then. He wasn't done. And Blanchard wasn't dying. But this has to be destroyed." Sisko sipped his dinner, watching the others.

Miles hadn't said much. "Tarlan needs to get us there. The plants go to seed in the winter. I think we could legitimately allow an expedition to gather some, especially now that he has time. We do the burn out while he and some of his people gather away."

"Not his people. He doesn't trust them. By tomorrow they might all be on lock restriction." Sisko didn't want any of his people near there, worried they'd try to take more to replace what had gone.

Willman was thinking about it. "Tell him to *put* them on LR. Not for the duration but, say, for a week. Then we'll pick some people we can trust and he can have his little expedition. We'll follow along and do the cave."

"He wasn't happy with them yesterday. Somebody tried to open the box." Sisko wished he'd asked Tarlan to come. It would be much simpler then.

Jadzia looked up. "You can use my people. I trust them and the gathered seed is under Supply anyway."

This was coming together much better than he'd hoped. But these meetings couldn't last too long.

"What about the chemicals they had? I wonder if they replicated them?" asked Miles.

"We'll have to deal with that. For now, we plan, when?"

Jadzia answered. "Two days from now. I'll get the paperwork ready. He'll have to do his too, since he'll be working with us."

"Good. Who does it?" asked Sisko.

"I will, " said Miles.

"I'd like to but I'm too busy," said Willman.

"Pick two people you trust," instructed Sisko. "Only two. The fewer that know, the better."

Everyone nodded. Miles and Jadzia took their leave. But Willman didn't.

"Speaking of lock restrictions, I'm not getting anywhere. I wish I could pull Tarlan's threat, but it wouldn't matter so much to my people. They work so long that most of the time all they have is a quick meal and bed anyway."

"You want to try a box at least?"

"I might. But I doubt it would help much. The Ag people don't have much use for what they took. Most of it needs more they don't have to work anyway. Now, my people, misguided or not, think they'll be saving a life some day with their hoard. They'll just find better hiding places."

"What do we do then?"

"I'd like to order a search of all quarters, but I can't. But you can." Willman stared at the wall.

"I don't want to do that."

"Someone has to." Willman started winding his fingers together. "I'll set up a box. I'll give them an hour to drop the things in the box with the certainty it will be found otherwise. I can't have you tearing apart the hospital. But if they have to put their rooms together again it might remind them that this has to be done."

Sisko considered it. "If you think it will work."

"I has to." Willman stared at Sisko. "When shall I announce it?"

"Tomorrow. We'll make a point with Ag, too. I'll get the security people ready."

"What time?" he asked

"That's up to you."

Willman considered. "Afternoon shift change. I'll send the staff home. Bring them in and give everyone ten minutes to get to the hospital. Tell them they'll be searched once past the box. We'll put the box in a place they can donate in private. They *must* submit to a search. Then you can rip apart their quarters if you want. Just don't break things. Let them all go home to a mess to remind them how serious this is."

"And if we catch someone?" asked Sisko.

"You catch someone."

"You're sure about this."

"Absolutely." Then he hesitated. "Just one thing. I'm looking for one instrument. It will be destroyed afterwards but it could make someone's life less a living hell."

Sisko didn't like the idea. Glebaroun would know about the show. He'd rather nothing be used. But he suspected there was something that could help Bashir, and if he didn't need to steal he wouldn't be in so much trouble.

"If anything that scans is there, we'll have the hospital checked to see what else is hidden. That should cover the EM signature. Do it quick."

"It shouldn't be complicated." Willman looked better. He hoped they found the instrument and Bashir wouldn't be so miserable.

"Until tomorrow," said Willman.

"Yes."

Willman closed the door, and Sisko took out the ball. This was going to cost him. The medical staff would return to their quarters and see a mess and remember the Jem'Hadar. But if it saved their lives, he'd pay it. Willman and Bashir were doctors. They kept people alive in different ways. Each survivor was victory. If he could keep the Jem'Hadar at bay this would be his.

o0o

Willman entered the main hospital building at precisely shift change the next day. He used the public announcement system to call them together.

"All staff to the lobby immediately." He didn't leave any room for doubt in his tone.

Outside, the security people were knocking on doors, sending the people in their quarters to the hospital "lobby". It wasn't actually a part of the hospital, originally an outside garden, and all of them were being watched lest they try to stash something. If this happened it would be retrieved later. But it wouldn't be possible to hide it in the hospital.

The lobby was filling with people. It would be searched as well, but there were few places to hide anything. It was cold, too, and the staff were huddled together to try to stay warm.

Bashir came out with Lonnie. He was limping badly. Both of them looked confused, but had put on their heavy coats.

The security people were visible to everyone. A few were staring at them as if they were Jem'Hadar.

It didn't take long to assemble them. He didn't want the patients left alone any longer than necessary.

"First, you'll return to your quarters. If you have any contraband remove it since these people will be conducting a very detailed search of all quarters, including mine. I'm assured nothing will be broken, but you will have to clean up when you return. If anything is hidden it will be found and you'll be taken into custody to be turned over to Them. You have no more than ten minutes to be in line at the hospital's side entrance."

He watched them. They were surprised, but he supposed they might have expected something like this from him.

"From there, you'll enter the corridor one at a time and close the door. There is a box. If you have anything to drop inside, do it. At the end of the corridor you'll open the door and go to a private room. Each of you is required to submit to a search. It will be very personal. Once you are done there, you'll return here. A few staffers will be sent back inside, but most will wait until everything is done. If you're off duty, you may go back to your quarters and start cleaning. If not, you'll go back to duty. Otherwise, all personal are under curfew until tomorrow night. If there is something you hid elsewhere, the box will be in a private place after curfew ends for a limited time."

They had moved closer, staring at him and the security people. None of them thought he'd go this far. But in case Tarlan had to do the same, his people would no longer doubt and take it very seriously.

"You may go to your quarters."

He watched them. Some were in more of a hurry than others. Bashir didn't appear to be worried. He didn't even bother to go to his quarters at all. Lonnie rushed there, but he knew she had some very important personal things she'd want to put in an open place.

The line started forming. The first person entered. Bashir was in the front of the line. He hoped that somehow the right instrument would turn up and he would no longer have to worry about his other doctor disappearing.

o0o

Bashir opened the door, passing the box. He looked it over, hoping to see inside but it was too dark. He had nothing to contribute. His device was hidden in a safe place. Willman wouldn't find it. In a way, he wished he'd been able to get it. Once this was done, all bets were off. He hoped Willman found the instrument. He'd make sure to retrieve his own that way. Willman would know but he'd not be able to change his mind. Later, he knew, if he was caught, he was dead. He was sure there would be a later.

Even if Willman didn't find the instrument, he might put his in the box tomorrow if he could get to it. But he hadn't used it yet that day and his leg was hurting worse with the cold. If he kept it hidden, even if They discovered it, it wouldn't connect with him. And he was sure Willman would never find everything. He was just pushing them into better hiding places.

The next door led to a hallway with two private rooms on either side. One was for men, the other women. He tentatively pushed open the one marked men.

A security person was waiting. Another was sitting by a table. "Get undressed," said the one at the table. "Put everything on the table."

They watched. The Jem'Hadar hadn't needed to do this. They could scan their victims. It was humiliating. Maybe he'd just keep the device hidden whatever happened.

While his clothes were checked, a very personal search was performed. If Willman thought this was going to make them feel more secure, he doubted it. They watched when he dressed, too. He wondered if they enjoyed their job.

Outside that door, he was funneled back to the lobby. Willman had gone inside, but Sisko's security people were still there. His leg hurt. They'd make him take off the brace and checked it too. He wasn't sure it was on right. He wished he was off duty so he could go back to his quarters afterwards and rest. But he had a long afternoon ahead of him.

Slowly, the line crept ahead. Most of those who escaped from the search room looked deeply embarrassed and wouldn't look at anyone. But at least all of them had their heavy winter coats.

Willman had left a chair and he took it. Eventually, Lonnie came through, looking rather pale and disturbed. She found a private corner to wait.

A few were sent back inside, but neither he nor Lonnie. It was getting cold. She came to sit by him, shivering. "That was different," she said bitterly, under her breath.

"Hmmph," he replied. But he didn't want to make things worse with talking and getting them on lock restrictions.

Eventually the doors opened. Willman emerged, motioning he and Lonnie to come. For the moment she wasn't thinking about the search. All she wanted was to get inside where it was warm. She hurried back to work and heat.

He followed Willman to the small corridor. He opened the box.

There were more than twelve things inside, but none of them were the instrument that both of them wanted to find.

"I was hoping. I was going to do the treatment immediately and then destroy it but it must be elsewhere. We can't really, properly, search the hospital."

He realized Willman was genuinely sorry. "I'd stay out of everybody's way for now, if I were you," he told Willman. "Your goons in there were pretty through."

"It couldn't be helped. We got this much."

Bashir guessed that Willman hadn't been searched. He wouldn't dismiss it so quickly if he had been. At least his quarters had been wreaked.

Willman closed the box. He picked up a bottle of an acid used to clean Ag equipment and poured it over the things, closing the top. "I already surveyed it. We used the tricorder to scan the hospital but it didn't find anything. That doesn't mean there isn't anything. It just means we missed it."

"Are you going to search the hospital too?" ask Bashir, hoping somehow they'd find the bulky instrument and he could forget about his own.

Willman gave him an odd look. "Room by room. It won't be complete, but they will do the best they can. I have a feeling Mr. Tarlan will be getting very good cooperation when he does his sweep."

Bashir realized he couldn't drop his bit of danger into the box. Willman believed it was destroyed. He was trying to help with the reduced hours and his intention to violate the rules should they find the instrument. He wouldn't dare if he found out his doctor had been lying to him. If Tarlan was going to repeat the process, time was running very short for all of them. Or it was already too late and Willman would help him anyway, then put him on restrictions again, using some falsified record, and when they came he'd already be a prisoner. Nobody would know why, but then they'd guessed before. He doubted he'd be quite so lucky the second time around.

His leg was hurting so bad he needed to rest. "I have to fix the brace. I think its on wrong."

"Go home. You'll have some work to do, thought you don't have too much. Come in for night shift instead."

Bashir wished he could leave the instrument hidden, even if eventually They found it along with that which Willman missed. He did not want to live with the fear of discovery and the consequences, but he knew that Willman's potions were not good enough, and he needed it to work. His only hope was that somehow the missing instrument would turn up in time.

When he left, closing the door behind him, Willman was still staring at the box.

o0o

Lonnie could still feel their filthy fingers inside her. The two women had been as cold as you could get. They'd looked her over as if she was a piece of meat and she'd not forget it for a long time. Willman had sent her back to work afterwards, and she'd been delayed by an emergency, so she didn't return to the ruin of her quarters until late.

She stared at it when she closed the door. All her carefully arraigned shelves were dismantled. They'd piled clothes in a stack on the floor, but at least there was a sheet under them so they'd be clean. She didn't have time to wash them all over. Her personal things, left carefully sitting out on the table, were left alone. She ignored the mess, sorting out her sheets and blankets and taking off her work clothes. The bed was usable. She wrapped herself in two extra blankets and went to bed.

Tomorrow she'd have half the day off and get to her rooms. Tonight she would try to forget the fingers, and the humiliation and remind herself that Willman must have had a good reason to do this.

o0o

Tarlan spent the day in the warehouse. He changed into his old clothes and did a survey of available chemicals. He was disappointed. There wasn't enough to destroy all of it.

They'd have to use the replicator. He wanted to talk to Sisko but decided to wait until tomorrow. He'd heard of Willman's raid, along with everyone else. He assumed it would help loosen some of the Ag people's fingers from their treasures, too.

The nurse was one of the night people he didn't know. She was busy and he took a shower and went to bed.

In the morning, she was impatiently waiting to go home. Kay was late. She looked at his crisp clothes with distaste.

Justin was still asleep. "How is Justin doing?" he asked.

"Not so well," she said, "but he is improving. He's breathing a lot better now than yesterday."

"Take good care of him."

"I'll pass that on to Kay if she ever gets here," said the nurse without enthusiasm. "I still have a mess to clean up."

He went to his office, the place deserted. The box had been a very big success. He sat down and cataloged it, then dumped it in another box, one with a glean of acid still at the bottom. O'Brien would drop by in a few minutes to finish it off.

O'Brien was late. He didn't have anything to do so he doodled on a few odd pieces of paper left on his desk.

But when he arrived, O'Brien had a form in his hand. "You need to fill this out. And somebody tried to pry open the box today."

He looked at the form. "A seed gathering trip?" he asked.

"Your doing one tomorrow. Also, your putting all of them on lock restriction for a week. We need them out of the way. And we need your help with the project."

He didn't want to hear about the project. It made him remember the cave.

"I have some things to discuss with Sisko," he said.

"He has some things to talk about with you, too."

"I recorded the things. You may proceed."

"Get going. He's waiting for you."

He left O'Brien to destroy the things, taking the coded list and the form.

Sisko was waiting for him in the little room. The staff was out and the door was open.

He hadn't gotten seated before Sisko looked up from some papers. "Did you get a lot?"

"Yes. They were very cooperative. But I'm told I must put them on restriction."

"We have a plan. We can't trust your people, so they have to be out of the way. You'll be working with Dax's people gathering seeds. Mostly you direct them to the ones you want the most."

He took a deep breath. "This cave has a replicator. I assume it is powered. We will need to use it. I can't mix enough to destroy the entire thing without that."

Sisko diplomatically didn't ask how he knew the size of the cave "How long will this take?"

"Not long. I can do that while Dax organizes her people, or just slip away for a few moments. And the chemical can be created without mixing. We do need those chemicals for next season."

"It sounds a lot safer too," noted Sisko.

"Very. It's very flammable. We'll make something to spread it too. Place a line and light it and it will catch immediately." Tarlan shrugged. "I did spend some time in resettlement. I learned a few things."

"You'll need to get the LR set up," said Sisko. "And the form. Get it to Dax as soon as it's done."

"Certainly." He paused. "They will know," he said. "It's going to be so hot they can't miss it."

"They already know, I'm sure. But what matters is we try. That's the difference between Singha and Gallitep."

Tarlan nodded. "I'll get the seed inventory lists prepared today. I suppose I'll have my office to myself. Should I bring back my records?"

"Give it a few days. Maybe you can rescind it after tomorrow and let them have a few more chances. It's much better this way then the alternative."

It was odd when he went home to change. Kay was there, but she didn't stare at him. She was nervous.

"How bad were your quarters?" he asked.

"A mess, " she replied. But she didn't seem all that upset. He was curious but had seed and plant samples to assemble.

He'd forgotten about it by the time he got back that night, but it nagged at him that she was still a little too worried when she arrived the next day.

o0o

Dax stood in the warehouse, Tarlan handing out sheets of paper on clipboards. Her crew were assembled and each took a clipboard and a sample of a plant. There was a drawing of each plant and a backpack to put the seeds in once they were collected.

"Is that all you want?" she asked.

"There are others, but they don't spread their seeds this time of year. These are the prime choices. If we have limited time, these are the best species to collect."

"Any questions?" she asked the crew.

There were none, and he led the way into the forbidden zone.

He led them far enough away that the fire wouldn't be obvious. This area was washed with mud in the spring. More of the chosen species grew here than anywhere else. He got each of the crew assigned to a tree or plant to start collecting, and explained he wanted to survey the other areas.

He went straight to the cave. O'Brien was waiting outside.

"With your idea I didn't think we'd need help."

"We shouldn't."

Tarlan didn't bother pretending he didn't know how to get in. O'Brien didn't make any fuss over it either. He only glanced at the abandoned chemical mixers. Tarlan went directly to the lights and lit all of them so he could see it all.

He was curious what O'Brien would do. He paused, shaking his head. "Too bad we have to do this," he muttered to himself.

Tarlan had already started on the replicator. He first made two breathing masks. His cough had gotten better and he knew they'd need them. He tossed one to O'Brien. Next he set it to create the sprayer. It was powered by a small motor. All it needed was to be turned on and pointed.

Then he made several work outfits. He took his and started to change in a private corner. O'Brien followed suit. "Put these in the front where we can change out of these before you ignite. Burn this too."

Then he created the cord. It was just the right length. O'Brien had brought something to light it with already.

They put on the masks. The next container was the fuel that would burn.

It was moved with gingerly care. There was a suction hose that should keep it from spilling. He hooked it up and the pump was started. It filled quickly.

The replicator was powered down.

Tarlan moved the scattered things in the outer cave to the inside with O'Brien's help. Now they wouldn't need to ignite the first small cave. The fire shouldn't flame out of the cave that way.

He positioned the sprayer. "It sprays in a circle ahead of itself. Just get every surface covered. And place the cord first, of course."

"Yeah," said O'Brien from inside the mask.

"Shall I help?"

O'Brien shook his head and pulled off his mask. "No. You'll smell that way. Put my things and your mask in the little cave in front. I'll change there before the burn. Get going before they miss you."

Tarlan nodded, remembering the wonder this place had represented the first time. Now he only wanted to be rid of it.

He wanted to get back to the plants. He was finished changing when O'Brien came into the little cave. "There's enough in there for the whole thing?"

"Yes. More than enough. Use it all, then leave the sprayer inside."

"Go," said O'Brien.

"Wait perhaps an hour before you burn. I want the seed gatherers out of the area."

"I'll wait two."

Tarlan fled. He knew where the other area he planned to collect was. It was further away. Some of the best species grew there, especially one with small fruits which had a delightfully sweet taste.

Something good must come of this. But when he returned Dax's teams were still busy.

He worked with them, and in perhaps an hour it was done and they were away.

The next stop was going to take much longer. But he got them started and took a pack himself. He'd grow some of the fruits in the lab this winter. They could have an occasional treat that way. He thought about that rather than the cave and the dream that had come to be a nightmare.

o0o

Dax, Tarlan, and her crew had returned late, just past curfew, but Sisko had excused them. All were heavily laden with seeds. They met in the warehouse to unload their treasure and then proceeded to the serving area for dinner and seconds. Sisko had issued all of them passes to get home.

Dax and Tarlan returned to the warehouse afterwards. O'Brien, showered and showing no signs of his earlier work, was waiting for them.

"I didn't think you'd ever get here," he said.

"The grove was huge. The trees had so much fruit dried on it we wanted to get all we could. The fruits are sweet when you harvest them. Tarlan promised a sample as soon as one of the plants produces."

Miles had already reported to Sisko. He was hoping to get done and go home, but had to wait for them. He assumed they'd take their time un-packing the seeds. But he just had to make his report.

"It went up in a flash. You know your stuff."

"I never used any of what I learned on Bajor. Did it stay in the cave?"

"Yes. The bush didn't even burn. I'll bet it's melted inside."

Dax said nothing, but she looked relieved. "We should get these seeds packed. Want to help?"

He was tired but decide to stay. It was better than going home.

It took too long, but he felt a lot better. The machines and the fire had been about fear. The seeds represented hope. Maybe they'd done enough that Tarlan would have a chance to plant his garden. He would look forward to that during the long cold nights.

o0o

Jadzia sat on her bed, looking at the ring. The last act was over now. All they had to do was wait.

But it was different now. She would still die, and Dax as well. The world these people knew would change beyond recognition. But they'd taken a different path that day.

The Dominion would have wiped them out if they hadn't acted. Now, they'd be punished but enough would survive to go on.

But she thought more about the seeds. She'd probably never taste the light, sweet drink Tarlan wanted to make. But somehow she knew he'd survive. He'd turned a corner that day and the rest of his life had changed.

Hers could not. She knew. But when she died, she'd be at peace now. Kira had once said that without hope, there was nothing. Now, in the sealed vials sitting in the warehouse, lay a hope that none had anticipated.

o0o

Sisko stared out his window. Tarlan's decision to reveal the location of the cave had been a stroke of great luck, but it wouldn't change everything. When the Jem'Hadar arrived, they'd still take him away. They'd take Sisko, too, he knew, but he didn't really care right then.

Willman's raid was still a shock, but he'd already felt the hostility. His aides were being avoided by most of the others. Willman had stood up in front of his staff, but Sisko controlled the security people. It wouldn't have happened without his agreement.

But there still had to be more. Now, even if they'd been destroyed, too much contraband had appeared and he had to issue the proper discipline for it. He was working on that. Both departments would be put on lock restrictions, but that was only the start. Curfew would be extended. Nobody was going to like it but he would do what had to be done.

The raid had driven him across the line in the sand. Even if it was done to save them, it made him another enemy. His only compensation was that no one had been caught.

Tomorrow he'd finish his notes. He'd let things settle a little before he called them in.

But the blast in the cave was done. There would be no more experiments. He was as alone as a man could be, but if it worked, his own misery didn't matter anymore.

end, Legacy, Year 1, part 1-4, Chapter 22

end,Legacy,Year 1

And very soon to come,

Legacy Year 2 - Metamorphosis


End file.
